In Hiding
by Leah Kate
Summary: After being rescued from the island, Sawyer tries not to think about the fact that he's partly responsible for Kate's arrest - until the night she climbs through his window looking for shelter.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, this is going to be kind of weird...it's based on the premise that the raft plan actually worked and they were rescued. (We all know it won't happen, but it's fun to play around with. )

* * *

**IN HIDING**

**Chapter One**

Sawyer opened the door tentatively and pushed on it, watching as it slowly swung inward on squeaking hinges. The place looked pretty much the same, which surprised him. There was a layer of dust over everything, but that was really nothing new. After all, he hardly ever came here, even before he'd gone to Australia. This was the house he'd lived in as a kid, the scene of the most tragic, terrifying moment he had ever experienced - the house where he had witnessed his parents' deaths.

After he'd been sent to live with distant relatives at the age of eight, he hadn't thought about the house much. But it must have been there somewhere, lurking in the back of his mind, because when he was 20 and had completed his first truly lucrative scam, it was the first thing he'd thought of. He'd found himself in Tennessee, standing in front of it, not really wanting to go in but unable to leave. It wasn't for sale, and he hadn't really expected it would be. But the guy who owned it lived in Maine, and it wasn't too hard to convince him that it would be in his best interest to sell. Even after purchasing it, Sawyer rarely stayed there. It was a place to touch base, but he spent most of his time traveling. He liked knowing it was there, though...that it was at least someplace to go back to, if he had no other options.

Now, after spending over a month on the island from hell, it looked better than ever. He walked in slowly and dropped his bag. He had no idea why he'd kept the damn bag - most of the things in it weren't even his, and it wasn't like he'd need it now. But it was just an instinct for him to keep his possessions close. He hated losing anything.

He flicked the light switch experimentally, not really expecting anything to happen, but he was surprised when it flashed on immediately. "I'll be damned," he said softly in wonder. The power company must have forgotten to shut him off - it wasn't like he'd paid the bill last month.

He looked around, unsure what to do next. His eye came to rest in the corner, on the dusty television set - the one that had been top-of-the-line in 1985, but now looked like something from another planet. He clicked the power button and was once again surprised when it came on. The sound itself startled him - after having heard virtually nothing but the noise of pounding waves for the last 40 days, everything here was strange. He hadn't counted on it being so hard to adjust.

As the picture gradually changed from black to color, he noticed for the first time what the voices were saying. It was a newscast - it dawned on him slowly that it was a newscast about _them_. The first thing his eye registered was Claire and the baby - the anchor was just finishing up the tidbit about the birth, apparently. Then a shot of Charlie, looking like a goon.

"Also among the survivors rescued Thursday was British rock band Driveshaft's bass guitarist, Charlie Pace. Fans of the group expressed jubilation at this unexpected turn of events, and Mr. Pace has released a statement thanking fans for their ongoing support and promising a reunion tour with new material to commence sometime later this year." Then a shot of an hysterical group of girls, holding signs and screaming, "WE LOVE YOU, CHARLIE!"

Sawyer rolled his eyes and snorted in disgust.

The anchor went on. "And, in a surprising boon for the United States justice system, wanted fugitive Katherine Austin was apprehended by federal agents as the rescue effort got underway. Austin is wanted for a string of crimes, including murder and manslaughter, and has been managing to evade authority for at least five years."

At first he didn't even recognize the name. It meant nothing to him. Who the hell was Katherine? But then...there she was. Kate. An agent escorted her on both sides, and she was in handcuffs. He almost stopped breathing. She looked at the camera, angry...but there was something else there as well. _Terror_. In all the time he'd spent with her on the island, he'd never once seen that look in her eyes. He felt her gaze go right through him, across all the distance between them, transported through the airwaves here, into this house.

"At the time of the tragic crash, Austin was being escorted to a U.S. facility under the jurisdiction of a federal marshal. Sadly, that agent did _not _survive the accident. For more details on the stunning and unprecedented discovery of the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815, you can visit our web site at..."

He stopped listening. Forcing himself to move, he reached over and flipped the power switch again. Silence settled back over the house. He sat there, feeling sick. He'd known it was going to happen - hell, he'd _expected _it. He'd even told her that he knew it. But somehow, the reality was different. That look she'd aimed at the camera was almost accusing. He knew that was ridiculous, but he couldn't help thinking it.

He could have given her the spot. But he told himself that it wouldn't have made any difference. The boat that had picked up the raft had radioed back their information about the flight - by the time they'd reached the Australian mainland, the authorities (and the journalists) were already waiting for them. If she'd been there, she probably still would have been picked up. The key word, however, was _probably_. She might have had a chance. At least she wouldn't have been cornered.

"Fuck it," he said angrily, getting up and kicking the chair out of the way. He had enough problems of his own to worry about. Hell, if she was as bad as they said, maybe she _deserved _to be in prison. The thought didn't make him feel any better, though, because he knew deep down that she _didn't _deserve it.

Storming through the house, he located the spot where he kept a hidden stash of money - on the back of the toilet tank, a trick his dad had taught him when he was still just a little kid. He grabbed part of it, leaving the rest there, but then, on second thought, took all of it. There was a good bar near here - if it was still open, that was. He'd never needed a drink more in his life.

* * *

He pulled back into the driveway at an awkward angle in the pouring rain, knowing he'd had too much to drink for the third night in a row, but not really caring. This routine was becoming almost comforting. Once he'd discovered that the bar was still open for business, he'd practically moved in. He'd been there every afternoon and evening for three days - since the day he got home, in fact, and he had little desire to do anything else. Whenever the effects of the alcohol started to wear off, he'd found himself thinking about her. It was crazy, but it was like he couldn't think of anything else. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.

At first, the people in the small Appalachian town had tried to approach him, asking questions about the plane crash and the island. But he'd made himself intentionally unapproachable. It wasn't hard - in fact, it was almost second nature. By now, everyone was leaving him alone, which was just the way he liked it. Thank God the phone service had been turned off, because he knew that if it hadn't, every goddamn journalist in the country would be calling trying to get an interview. On the second night he'd made the mistake of venturing into the room at the bar where the television was kept, hoping to catch a baseball game. Instead, he'd caught a glimpse of Jack being interviewed by Barbara Walters. He'd made it a point to avoid that room ever since.

He got out of the car slowly, testing himself to see how steady he would be on his feet. Not too bad, considering. His alcohol threshold was readjusting. He didn't even feel all that drunk. Ducking his head in the sheets of water falling from the sky, he made his way onto the porch, unlocked the door, and let himself in.

He stood in the tiny entrance hall for a second, getting his bearings. Peeling off his soaked t-shirt, he headed toward the kitchen, trying groggily to remember if he'd bought any food since he'd been back.

Suddenly, a sharp sound echoed through the house, coming from the direction of the downstairs bedroom. He stopped, immediately tensed and alert. What the hell was that? He waited for a second, not hearing anything else. Grabbing a baseball bat that he somehow, against all odds, remembered he kept just inside the alcove below the stairs, he headed slowly toward the door of the room the sound had come from.

Swallowing nervously, he turned the doorknob and tentatively inched it open. The room was pitch black, but from the breeze he could tell that the window had been opened...and as he listened closely, he could hear breathing. Would those damn reporters really go this far to get a story? He hoped the bastards knew that he wouldn't put up with it - he didn't care if it was fuckin' Tom Brokaw himself, he'd beat the hell out of anybody that dared to trespass on his property.

Steeling himself for a fight, he ran his hand along the wall just inside the doorway until he found the light switch. Flicking it on with his left hand, he raised the bat with his right...and then shocked, lowered it slowly in absolute bewilderment.

Standing in the middle of the room, drenched to the skin and breathing raggedly, was Kate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

They both stood frozen for a few seconds, neither one willing to speak first. He noticed, almost offhandedly, that she was wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing when he'd seen her getting arrested on the news. She must have been wearing them ever since. Her hair was loose and soaking wet, strands of it plastered to her face. Above her left temple was a bad gash, but it didn't look as if it was still bleeding.

After a few more seconds of silence, she spoke in a quiet voice.

"Hi."

And then, when he still continued to stare at her in shock, "Your window was unlocked."

That broke the spell. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Freckles. Guess I'll have to keep my eye on that from now on," he said sarcastically. "You mind tellin' me what the _hell _you're doin' here? Ain't you supposed to be in prison by now?"

She looked a little confused.

"You didn't hear what happened, then?"

"I haven't really been followin' the news lately. Tell you the truth, I'm sick of hearin' about it all."

Realizing he was still gripping the bat tightly, he laid it down on a chest of drawers and turned his attention back to her. His heart was still pounding, but the strangest thing was the overwhelming amount of _relief _he felt at seeing her. Not only because it lessened his burden of guilt at not giving her the spot on the raft, but because of what it meant for her. If she'd made it all the way here, maybe she really had a chance.

She looked at the floor, obviously not prepared to recite her version of things. She'd counted on him already knowing.

"There was an accident," she began in a low voice.

"An accident," he echoed flatly, watching her.

She looked up.

"The car they were transporting me in. It went off the road, and...I managed to slip away."

He almost smiled.

"Wellll...Wasn't that just _convenient_, now? Almost as convenient as the plane crash, huh?"

"I didn't have anything to do with the plane crash. You know that." She spoke tightly, on the verge of becoming angry.

"Maybe not...but I'm willin' to bet you can't say the same for the other one, can you?"

A flicker of pain passed over her face, but she held his gaze.

"Nobody died."

She said it almost in justification.

He shook his head slightly and looked away.

"You're somethin' else, you know that?"

He'd meant it as something like an insult, but he couldn't hide a trace of admiration as well. She was _good_.

When she didn't respond, he moved on to another line of questioning.

"Can I ask what brings you to Tennessee? How the hell'd you even find this place?"

"I'm a good tracker, remember?"

She looked almost wistful, as if the memory of their trek through the jungle was one of the few good ones she had.

"You tellin' me you _tracked _me to my house? What, by my cologne?" 

She rolled her eyes. "I found the name of the town you lived in in a newspaper article about the raft. When I got here, I looked in the phone book and found your address. It wasn't really that hard."

He waited a few seconds.

"Why me?"

"What?"

"Don't give me that _'what'_! _Why me_? Why's it my window you're climbin' through in the middle of the night?"

She looked at him intently, apparently unable to speak what she really wanted to convey. Finally, she said softly, "I didn't have anywhere else to go." It wasn't what she meant, but it was all she could manage.

"Well, I sure as hell hope you know you can't stay here. You and me mighta had some fun times back on the old island, but this here's the real world, girlie. You know what the penalty is for harborin' a fugitive in this state?"

She looked hurt and a little confused. "Do you?"

Annoyed, he didn't know what to respond. He had no idea what the penalty was. 

"Well...I'm sure it's...pretty bad!"

He paused, determined for some reason to go on with this.

"Look...I'm sorry to disappoint you, shortcake, I really am. But I got enough to worry about without tryin' to hide an escaped convict in my broom closet."

He could have kicked himself. It was like his mouth wasn't connected to his head. But somehow, the words kept spilling out.

"So I think it's probably best if you just...keep on movin'," he finished bitterly, looking toward the open window.

She looked at him, searching his face, trying to figure out if he really meant it or not. He couldn't handle the penetration of that gaze...it was like she could see right into him. He looked at the floor, waiting, trying to maintain some kind of resolve. They both stood in complete silence for what seemed like forever. Finally, he looked back up at her. She seemed almost amused now, as if she'd figured something out.

"So..." She paused. "You gonna let me stay, or what?"

Watching her, he gave a deep sigh and leaned wearily back against the door frame.

She nodded slightly, the faintest traces of a smile touching her lips.

"Where's the shower?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

After closing all the drapes in the house to ensure that nobody could see in, he sat in the living room, staring into space, feeling like this was all some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination. If it wasn't for the sound of the water running in the shower upstairs, he would have been convinced that it was. The only problem with that theory was that he didn't feel drunk at all anymore - on the contrary, he felt more sober than he'd ever been in his life.

But damn it, things like this just didn't happen in the real world. The woman you'd been thinking about for days didn't just all of a sudden climb through a window in the middle of the night demanding a shower. Then again, he told himself, most people didn't crash land on a deserted island and live there for over a month, either. His life was turning out somehow..._different_.

With the fog clearing from his brain for practically the first time in three days, he made an effort to avoid thinking about all the things he didn't want to think about. He suddenly wished he had a cigarette, and it dawned on him with a certain irony that he'd forgotten to start smoking again when he'd come back. It was somewhat of a relief when he heard her come down the narrow wooden staircase and enter the room.

He looked up. It was the first time he'd ever seen her in anything but her "island clothes." She was wearing a thin, faded plaid bathrobe that he hadn't even known he possessed. Leave it to women to find things in your house you didn't know were there.

She sat down on the couch opposite him, drying her hair with a towel.

"So..." she began, almost awkwardly.

"So..." he repeated in a mocking tone.

"What have you been up to?" There was a slight gleam in her eyes that let him know the question was more of a joke than anything else.

"We just saw each other five days ago, Freckles."

"I know. Feels like longer though, doesn't it?" She seemed a little wistful.

"Yeah," he said quietly. It felt like years ago. In some ways, it felt like it had never happened at all.

Looking around the room curiously, she tucked her feet up under her and leaned over onto the armrest. He watched her, oddly fascinated. He couldn't figure out why she looked so strange, but it finally occurred to him that maybe it was because he'd never seen her sitting on actual furniture before. He'd never seen her in lamplight. Hell, he'd never seen her _indoors_. In his mental cosmos, she was inextricably linked with the island. She belonged there as surely as the palm trees and the waterfall. Seeing her here was like seeing the Eiffel Tower in the middle of Nebraska. It just didn't fit.

Noticing that he was watching her, she looked back at him. "This house is really old, isn't it?"

"Built in 1918." He wasn't in the mood to go into details about the grittier aspects of its history. Not now.

She nodded. "That cabin about half a mile down the road - is that your closest neighbor?"

"Too close for my taste. I hate that son-of-a-bitch."

She smiled slightly. Same old Sawyer. "I'm glad. Less people to snoop around."

"You positive nobody's on your trail? You're probably the most wanted fugitive in the country right now, considerin' how many times you've slipped through their fingers. You're makin' em' look bad, kiddo."

"No. Nobody followed me, I'm positive. But it doesn't mean they'll stop looking." She glanced toward the heavily draped window a little nervously.

"How can you be sure? Maybe they're just givin' you a wide rein before they close in."

"Trust me. I know when I'm being followed. It's happened enough," she said, a little sadly.

He was satisfied. She must be relatively good at this, if she'd been getting away with it for so long. He could probably trust her instincts as well as he could trust his own.

He looked at her more closely. "That cut...that happen in the accident?"

She touched her temple quizzically, as if she'd forgotten the wound was there. "I guess so."

"Looks infected."

"It's fine," she said shortly.

"I think I got some peroxide," he said, standing up.

In the bathroom, he went through the medicine cabinet. She followed him, leaning against the door frame. Handing her the brown bottle, he said, "Better do it yourself. I'm no _doctor_."

The words were loaded, but she tried to ignore them. Uncapping the bottle, she used a washcloth to dab some onto the cut. As she'd expected, he didn't drop the subject.

"Speakin' of doctors." He looked at her pointedly. 

Sighing, she closed her eyes for a second and turned to look at him. "What?"

"You found _my _address easy enough. Don't tell me you couldn't-'a found his just as easy if you'd tried."

"I didn't try." Pushing past him, she went back towards the living room. "Did you grow up in this house?

Ignoring her, he waited. For some reason, he couldn't let this go. He needed to know where things stood, and even though he suspected the truth, he wanted to hear her say it. He _needed _to hear her say it.

Finally, realizing he wasn't going to answer, she turned back to him. Crossing her arms in front of her stomach protectively, she looked down.

He watched her. "You said you didn't have anywhere else to go. That ain't really true now, is it?"

"I don't want to get Jack involved in this."

"Oh, but it's just fine and dandy to get _me _involved, though...is that it? Yeah, I see how it is...Wouldn't want Saint Jack to get his precious little hands dirty, but Sawyer...well, now, his life's so fucked up already that a couple years in the state pen won't make a hell of a lot of difference to him, anyway!" He said all this bitterly, but in a way the lines felt rehearsed. He'd known exactly what she was going to say.

"That's not what I meant! And.. it isn't just that." She looked away, then spoke quietly. "Jack's a good person. The world, for him...it's black and white. Maybe that's a good thing, and maybe it's not...but it's the way he sees things. He doesn't see the gray. And you and me? We're the gray." She seemed to be trying to hold back tears. He was a little sorry he'd been so persistent.

She went on. "If I went to Jack...If I asked for his help...He would want to do the right thing. He _always _does the right thing. Except in this case...I don't know what he would consider the right thing to be."

Sawyer was slightly surprised. "Are you sayin' you don't think you could trust him?"

The words seemed to hurt her somehow, but she took a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes. "I don't know."

They were both quiet for a minute. He wondered vaguely if that meant she thought she could trust _him_? Even after what he'd done last week - exposing her as the criminal in front of everybody? He knew he hadn't done anything to earn that much trust. But if she didn't have it, why would she be here?

Looking somehow defeated, she continued. "I don't know if it's really possible for Jack to understand people like me. People like _us_." She shot him that direct, forceful look that was also strangely vulnerable. He had the most bizarre, unaccountable desire to go to her, but he restrained himself. He had no idea how she would react to that. Most likely with another elbow in the face.

Finally breaking their interlocked gaze, she sagged, looking worn out. "Anyway." She looked around dully. "I'm exhausted." Glancing at the couch, she asked hesitantly, "Should I just...crash here?"

Forcing himself to stop thinking about the implications of what she'd just said about Jack, he tried to pay attention. "The bedroom upstairs, on the left. It's a spare." He paused. "Sheets are in the closet." He'd be damned if he was going to make up a bed for her.

"Okay."

At the bottom of the staircase, she stopped and turned to face him.

"Sawyer."

"Yeah?" Now it was his turn to look exhausted.

"Thank you," she said softly, meeting his eyes again. Without waiting for any kind of response, she continued up the stairs. A few seconds later, he heard the bedroom door shut.

Sinking back down into the chair he'd been in earlier, he wished, once again, that he hadn't quit smoking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

He could tell he had a pounding headache before he even opened his eyes. After the shock of seeing her, he hadn't felt drunk, but that apparently wasn't enough to save him from a hangover. Besides the headache, though, something about the room felt _off_. He could sense it even with his eyes closed.

Slowly, blinking heavily, he made an effort to raise his lids. Kate was sitting on the foot of the bed, watching him curiously, her legs crossed under her Indian-style. "Morning," she said.

He let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed his eyes again. "What the hell do you want?" he muttered.

"Don't act like it's the crack of dawn," she said wryly. "It's 11:30."

"To me, that is the crack of dawn, sweet cheeks. Now whyn't you come back in a few hours and we'll have ourselves a nice little chat." He rolled over, facing away from her.

Undaunted, she came around to the other side of the bed and sat down on the edge. "You don't have any food."

"I've got food," he said angrily.

"No, what you've got is half a case of beer, some bean dip, and a box of Frosted Flakes that expired in 2001. You also don't have any laundry detergent, toothpaste, or deodorant. And..." She grimaced comically and said with reluctance, "You just ran out of toilet paper."

"Jesus Christ," he groaned, pulling the pillow over his head.

Standing up, she yanked it off.

He glared up at her. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"You're gonna have to go to the store," she said, as if it was obvious. "I made a list," she went on coaxingly.

He sat up, still pissed. "You made_ a list_?" His head started to pound harder. Pressing his fingers to his temples, he closed his eyes again. "Unbelievable."

She looked vaguely amused. "I'll add aspirin to it." She headed to the door, then turned back towards him. "You're not gonna go back to sleep, are you?"

Trying to give her a look filled with as much scorn as he could, he watched her leave the room and head back downstairs.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he stumbled angrily towards the bathroom. There was no use in trying to rest now. Damn her. He was in no mood to play house. He slammed the bathroom door hard, and then regretted it when his headache kicked up a notch.

* * *

He showered and took his time getting down to the kitchen. Let her wait. He wasn't going to rearrange his entire life just because she'd chosen _his _house as her hiding place. Maybe she could wrap Jack around her little finger and have him ready at her beck and call, but not him, by God. If she couldn't deal with that, then she could just be on her way.

When he entered the kitchen, she was standing at the window over the sink, looking down at the mountainous valley that spread out towards the east. She turned in his direction. "I'll have to rig up some heavier curtains for this window. Just in case."

Ignoring her, he opened the refrigerator. She was right; there was nothing in it but beer. Grabbing a can, he slammed the door and popped the tab.

"What are you doing?" she said, looking at him like he was crazy.

"Beer's good for a hangover," he said, taking a sip and trying not to cringe at how terrible it tasted.

"Yeah? So's coffee," she said, lifting up the pot. "I found some way back in the cabinet. It's the last of it," she added.

"Don't feel like coffee." He took another excruciating sip of the beer.

Paying no attention to him at all, she filled a coffee mug and held it towards him.

He considered. It sounded a hell of a lot better than anything else right now, but he really didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Raising her eyebrows and watching him patiently, she continued to hold the mug. Sighing in annoyance, he dropped the beer can heavily into the sink and yanked a chair out from the table, sitting down.

She sat the cup in front of him wordlessly, then pulled out a chair across from him. They sat in silence for a minute. He sipped the coffee, hoping she wouldn't notice how good it tasted to him.

His headache was finally starting to subside a bit, but he was still annoyed. "Let's get one thing straight," he finally said, looking at her. "I wake up on my own in the mornin'. I don't need no human alarm clock draggin' me out of bed and tellin' me what time it is. Got that?"

"You _did _wake up on your own," she pointed out. "I was just sitting there."

That was true. Could she possibly be more irritating?

Seeming to realize what a bad mood he was in, and perhaps feeling a little guilty, she sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'd go to the store myself if I could, trust me. But right now...My face is on the news every 20 seconds. This is such a small town, and people know that you live here...they might make the connection. It's just too risky."

"I know that," he muttered.

"Here's the list." She slid a sheet of paper over to him. It was unbelievably long. He squinted, trying to make out the words.

"You need your glasses?"

He shot her a withering look, and she ducked her head, trying not to laugh.

Running his eyes over the list, he saw that most of the things were fairly ordinary. A typical shopping list. "What's this?" he asked, pointing at a word he couldn't quite make out.

"Artichoke," she said, as if was self-explanatory.

"What the hell you want _artichoke _for?"

"To cook with." He continued to stare at her. "It'll be good, trust me."

He looked back at the list. After a few seconds, he glanced back up at her again, in shock. "_Tampons_?"

She shrugged, amused. "Well?"

He shook his head contemptuously. This was like a nightmare.

"I think you can handle it," she said dryly.

"Exactly how long were you plannin' to stay here? If you don't mind my askin'," he said.

She waited a few seconds before answering, seeming a little sad. "I'll be out of your way as soon as I possibly can. I promise."

Oddly enough, the answer didn't really satisfy him. He drained the last of the coffee and scooted his chair back. Without saying anything to her, he headed towards the back screen door that led out of the kitchen. He paused on the porch in thought, then went back in.

"C'mere," he called to her.

She got up from the table and stood in the doorway of the pantry, looking at him questioningly.

"Want to show you somethin.' " He kneeled down onto the floor. Lifting up a reed mat, he unhooked a tiny latch and pulled up a section of the wooden planking until it rested at an angle on its hinges. He looked up at her as she peered into the hole, curiously.

"It's a root cellar," he explained. "When the mat's pulled over it, it's hard to tell it's there - opening stays almost completely hidden." He gave her a meaningful look. "Just in case anybody comes snoopin' around, like that bastard from down the road."

She nodded seriously. "Okay."

He closed the cellar door and re-covered it with the mat. She followed him as he headed towards the back door again. He stopped and looked at her, seeming a little worried. "Lock the door as soon as I'm gone. And make sure you keep all the drapes closed. You should also..."

"Sawyer." She stopped him, quietly. "I know how to do this."

"Yeah," he said, still looking worried. Opening the door, he glanced at her one more time. "Be back as soon as I can. Don't invite all your friends over."

She smiled slightly, then closed and locked the door as he headed out to the car.

* * *

When he finally pulled back into the driveway, it was late afternoon and the shadows were beginning to lengthen. After leaving the house at noon, he'd realized that he didn't have nearly enough cash on him, so he'd had to stop by the bank. Apparently, after the plane crash, his account had been liquidated, and it had taken him over an hour to prove to the morons that he wasn't dead.

Upon finally arriving at the grocery store, he couldn't find half of the things on her stupid list. Getting angry at the fact that he was even being made to _consult _a list, he dropped it on the floor and decided to just wing it. He realized his mistake when he couldn't think of anything to buy, so he'd been forced to go back and look for the paper. He cursed Oceanic Airlines, the goddamn island, Kate, the bank tellers, the grocery store manager, and for good measure, Jack. By the time he reached his house, he was ready to drop from sheer exhaustion.

Parking near the kitchen door, he grabbed as many bags as he could carry and headed inside. He would make her unload the stuff herself, but it probably wasn't safe for her to come outside while it was still light. He set the sacks down on the counter and looked around. At least she could put the stuff away - that wasn't too much to ask.

"Kate?" No answer. The house was as silent as a morgue. "Hey, Kate! Got your stuff, here!"

Glancing toward the table, he noticed a sheet of paper with her writing on it. It was a note. Unexpectedly, he felt a slight twinge in the pit of his stomach. So she must have changed her mind, after all. Maybe after what he'd said this morning, she'd decided to take her chances on the road.

It was probably better that way, anyway, he told himself. She'd cause him nothing but trouble if she stayed here. Still, he felt ridiculously disappointed. He moved slowly toward the note, not really wanting to read it.

As he got nearer, he noticed that there were only four words written:

_"I'm in the attic." _

And then a ridiculous smiley face that didn't seem to suit her at all.

He gave a short snort of laughter, relieved. Leaving the rest of the bags to wait in the car, he headed upstairs. To tell the truth, he'd forgotten he even had an attic. He knew where the stairs were, of course, but he didn't think he'd been up there since he was a kid. Even his parents had never gone up there much.

On the second floor, he found the door that led to the attic and slowly ascended the ancient wooden steps. When he reached the top, he stopped in wonder.

She was facing away from him, looking through a trunk over near the window that let in a shaft of pale sunlight. What stopped him in his tracks was the fact that he almost didn't recognize her - she seemed to be a ghost. Because, going against all the precepts of what he thought he knew about her, she was standing there wearing..._a dress_. And not just any dress; but an honest-to-God, 1940s, Big Band era cotton dress. It was short-sleeved and printed with flowers - the kind that clings to the waist and shoulders but then flares out below the hips. She looked like a war bride about to send her hubby off to the Navy.

"Well well well, ain't this a surprise," he drawled.

Startled, she spun around and put her hand to her heart. "Damn it, Sawyer, you scared me to death!"

He came up the last few stairs and looked at her. "What the hell' you doin' up here?"

"I was looking for some clothes. If you didn't notice, I didn't exactly bring any luggage with me. I got kind of sick of wearing the bathrobe."

"And _that's _what you decided on?" he asked ironically, looking at the dress.

She glanced down at it. "Everything up here is sixty years old. It's all I could find."

"That's 'cause this is my grandparents stuff," he replied, looking around in curiosity. "Forgot it was even up here."

"I'm surprised," she said. "You've probably got a fortune here, you know. Antiques are big business."

He looked back at her sharply. "Yeah, well, don't get any ideas. This stuff belongs to me."

She narrowed her eyes at him with scorn and moved toward the stairs.

He followed her down. "You gonna keep that thing on?"

She twirled around, making the skirt flare out. "I don't know. I kinda like it."

So did he. That was what worried him.

"You smell like mothballs," he said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll wash my clothes from yesterday. Did you get the detergent?"

"It was on _the list_, wasn't it?"

Smiling at him slightly, she prepared to descend to the first floor. "I'll make some dinner."

He watched her go, trying to remember if any woman had ever cooked dinner for him before. He was almost positive the answer was no. This was all wrong. She shouldn't be here. She needed to get out of here before...Before what, he wondered? Before he didn't want her to go? Wasn't it already too late for that? Weary, confused, and pissed at himself without knowing why, he went down to unload the rest of the groceries.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks so much for the reviews guys - it really means a lot to know that I'm not the only one who digs this bizarre domestic fantasy! As far as the fluff goes, yes, there is most DEFINITELY fluff ahead...but I'm predicting this will be about 20 chapters long, so you'll have to be patient...it's a slow burn. Lol.

And to answer the other questions -

Musicbrat: If Sawyer had let Kate have his spot on the raft, she might have been able to evade the authorities (like she planned); that's why he feels a little guilty about her arrest.

Southern Cross - I'm planning on a Jack cameo, but I'm not sure about any other characters. ;)

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**Chapter Five**

After everything was unloaded and put up in the kitchen, she seemed to want him to stay out of her way. That was just fine with him, because he was a little disturbed by how much he was enjoying watching her cook. Probably because she was still wearing that stupid dress. She was also barefoot. The entire image was just a little too surreal. All she needed to complete it was a pregnant belly. Banishing the offending thought from his mind as fast as he possibly could, he said abruptly, "Got some work to do on my truck."

She glanced around. "What truck?"

"It's out in the shed...It doesn't run. Yet."

"Oh," she said casually, turning back to the vegetables. "Okay."

After a few seconds, she turned back to him questioningly. He was still watching her. "What?"

"Nothin." He went quickly through the back door.

Somewhat confused, she continued on with what she was doing.

* * *

"What the hell is it?" he asked in a disgusted tone as she set the casserole dish onto the table. 

"I'm not even gonna tell you what it's called, because you wouldn't be able to pronounce it anyway," she said. "Just try it."

"It's _green_." He stared into the pan. "Guess I forgot to tell you, Freckles, but I got _rules _about green food."

"You ate green food on the island," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well...I didn't have any choice there." He paused. "What's it got in it...that asparagus you made me buy?"

"Artichoke," she corrected him as she spooned a serving onto his plate.

"Same _thing_," he said scornfully.

"Would you quit being such a baby? If you hate it, you don't have to eat it."

"Thanks, Mom." He poked a fork at the stuff experimentally. She watched him, trying not to laugh. Finally, acting like he was being forced to put a potentially radioactive material into his mouth, he took a tentative bite.

"Well?" she asked.

He chewed thoughtfully. "Needs pepper." He took another bite.

She smiled and handed him the pepper canister. "Thanks. I imagine that's about the closest thing to a compliment I can hope to get from you, huh?"

They continued to eat in silence for a few minutes.

Suddenly, she laid her fork down and seemed to be listening to something.

"What?" he asked, concerned.

Then he heard it too. A distant, vibrating rumble...at first he wasn't sure what it was, but it continued to get louder and louder until it was right overhead. Then the identity of the sound was unmistakable. A helicopter. It sounded as if it was flying fairly low.

He watched her closely. All the color had drained from her face and her posture was tensed and waiting, almost frozen.

She glanced toward the pantry door where the root cellar was. "Should I...?"

"Not yet," he said, holding up his hand. "Wait."

Slowly, gradually, after an excruciating interval during which they sat there without moving, the sound died away. After a minute or so it was completely gone, and the kitchen was once again silent.

Taking deliberately slow, deep breaths, she looked into his eyes.

"Probably wasn't anything," he said quietly, trying to sound reassuring. "Hell, they fly over here all the time. With the lake so close and the mountains and everything...it's a great area for the sight-seein' crowd."

"At night?" she asked dubiously, looking sick.

He didn't answer. He felt a little weak himself. But he didn't want her to see that, for some reason. He continued eating.

"Better finish that," he said, gesturing to her plate. "It'll get cold."

"I'm not really that hungry anymore," she said in a small voice.

"More for me, then." He tried to sound lighthearted.

She smiled at him sadly, but she looked grateful all the same. "Actually, I think maybe I'm gonna go take a bath. That mothball smell is kind of starting to get to me."

She stood up shakily and carried her plate to the sink. At the doorway she paused. "Shit.. I forgot about the mess. I don't suppose you want to do the dishes?"

"Well, golly, darlin', I thought you'd never ask," he said with a forced grin.

"Thanks."

When he heard the water start running upstairs, he sighed heavily. Going to the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer, then, on second thought, put it back and reached for the cabinet above the fridge where the Jack Daniels was kept.

* * *

When she came back downstairs, she was wearing the bathrobe again. He sat in the living room, grateful for the dull burning sensation of the whiskey in his stomach. At least he felt calmer now. 

Looking up, he noticed that she stood there hesitantly in the doorway. She gestured with her head toward the TV, which he hadn't even realized he'd turned on. "Do you mind?" she asked, looking disturbed.

He turned his attention to it and noticed what was on for the first time. It was an episode of COPS. Damn it. Real smooth, he told himself. Flipping the power off, he tried to look apologetic. "Guess you ain't really in the mood for that, huh?"

"Not exactly," she said, sitting down.

They were quiet for a minute. She seemed distracted and worried, as if she was still listening for something. For tonight at least, the illusion of safety was shattered. Seeing her vulnerability so close to the surface bothered him more than he wanted to admit. She just didn't look like _Kate _when she was like that. At least not the Kate he knew. He tried to think of something to take her mind off of the scare.

"Been meanin' to ask you about somethin.' Can't quite figure it out," he said slowly.

She turned towards him. "What's that?"

"You said you looked up my address in the phone book."

Faint recognition registered on her face. She obviously knew where he was going with this. "Yeah. So?" she asked, playing along.

"So...you know my name ain't really Sawyer," he said, looking at her closely.

"I didn't look under "Sawyer." I looked under your real name," she said, with the trace of a secretive smile.

"Which brings me right to my point, little lady. Exactly how'd you figure out what my real name was?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. "And don't say it was in the newspaper article, either, because I never gave it to any of those damn journalists."

She bit her bottom lip in amusement, looking bested. Letting her eyes wander around the room, she seemed to be considering.

Finally he asked, "You gonna tell me or not?"

She looked back at him and sighed, giving up the charade. "I found your passport."

"When?"

"On the island. A few days after the crash." She shrugged as if that explained it all.

"I see. And were you ever plannin' on givin' it back?" He tried not to sound too annoyed. He hadn't really planned to interrogate her, but it was the only way he knew to make conversation.

"Yes," she replied defensively. And then, twirling her hair in a ridiculously cute gesture, "Eventually."

He exhaled derisively. "Yeah, I'll bet. When you needed somethin' bad enough and wanted to trade it in, right?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You would have done the exact same thing, Sawyer, and you know it."

He didn't answer. The truth was, he'd possessed an entire hoard of recovered passports in his tent on the island, among them Shannon's, Jin's, and Walt's. No need for her to know that, though.

"So now I have a question for you," she said, stretching out on her stomach on the couch and turning to face him.

"What?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that the bathrobe was riding dangerously high up on her thighs. Was she wearing underwear? Stop thinking about it, he told himself sharply.

"Why don't you go by 'James'?"

The sound of his first name startled him enough for him to recover his composure. Just the sound of it was unnerving, particularly when _she _said it. It carried too much resonance from the past.

"I don't know," he answered, a little harshly. "Guess I just never thought it suited me. _Katherine_." He looked pointedly at her, happy to see that she looked a little startled also, although she covered it well with an amused smile.

She looked away from him and shook her head slightly. "I thought you said you didn't watch the news."

"Saw a few minutes the day I got here. Enough to know I didn't want to see any more." Intrigued, she looked back at him. He went on, more quietly. "Saw you gettin' arrested and bein' led off. After that I decided not to turn it on again."

"Why?"

"Because." He cocked his head playfully. "Only way I want to see you wearin' handcuffs is if _I _put 'em on you."

She shook her head slowly, smiling, and he could have sworn that she blushed a little. "You know, for some reason I thought you'd be less disgusting off the island."

"Don't know what coulda given you that idea," he said with a grin.

"Neither do I," she agreed.

Then there was a moment of awkward silence. They both realized, almost instinctively, that their standard flirty banter would necessarily have to take on different ramifications here. It wasn't as safe as it had been on the island. There, they were in a situation of perpetual stress and hardship. There were few places to be alone, and there were other people around constantly to act as a buffer.

But here...Everything was different. They were completely alone with each other. There was nobody, and nothing, to get in the way of whatever might develop. The house was secluded and they were basically trapped inside of it for the time being. It had been a long time - too long - since either of them had been with someone, and the emotional need was nearly as strong as the physical. Plus, to make matters worse, there just wasn't much to do here.

All of these circumstances added up to produce a situation that was both exciting and terrifying at the same time, for both of them. Young enough to be tantalized by the possibilities but old enough to know how disastrously it could turn out, they knew that they had to step carefully.

Kate in particular was steeling herself for complete renunciation. But it wasn't easy, even for her. Especially at night. Especially when he looked at her like that. When the tension weighing on them became almost unbearable, she pulled herself up off the couch and moved over to the bookcase, pretending to be fascinated by its contents. He watched her, seeing through the maneuver but willing to let her get away with it.

She took down a book and flipped through it idly. "Were these your grandparents' too?"

"Yep. Pretty much everything here is. My parents weren't here long enough to make much of a dent...They inherited the house when I was three, and then...well, I believe you know what happened when I was eight," he said in a bitter tone.

She stared at the book sadly. "Yeah."

"Funny thing is, after they died, the house was auctioned off. I don't even know who owned it all those years. The guy I bought it back from was plannin' to tear it down to put in some stables. But when I finally got it, nothin' in the damn place had even been touched. It was like it was just... frozen in 1975."

"You're kidding." She looked incredulous.

"Guess it's that old mountain-folk superstition. Nobody wants anything to do with a house where a man killed his wife and then blew his brains out." A little softer, he added, "Hell, who in their right mind would?"

Kate looked disturbed. "You mean...it happened _here_? In the _house_?"

"'Course it did," he said, as it were obvious. "My mom right in the front hall, my dad in that room you crawled into last night. Which is why I don't sleep there anymore," he added savagely, as an afterthought.

"Sawyer..." She seemed a little queasy. "Why? I mean...Why would you want to..._live here_?"

He looked over toward the window, even though it was heavily draped and nothing was visible. "Hell if I know _why_. Why do I carry around that letter?" He looked back at her. "Suppose for the same reason you carry around that stupid little plane."

She looked up from the book sharply, surprised.

"Yeah, I've seen it," he said, sounding tired. "You ain't nearly as sneaky as you think you are."

She continued to hold his gaze for a second, then looked down at the book, unsure of what to say. Oddly enough, she didn't feel offended or hurt. She didn't even feel cornered, as she would have if anyone else had mentioned the plane. Somehow, she had almost expected him to know about it. Maybe part of her had even _hoped _he did.

Another short silence followed, but all the tension was drained out of this one. They were both tired.

Kate smiled a little sadly. "I think I'll go on up and relax. I've always wanted to read this." She lifted the book slightly, and he could make out from the binding that it was Pride and Prejudice. How fitting. "I'm sure you've had enough of my company anyway."

"Yeah, you're a real pain in the ass," he said sarcastically as she neared the door. "But if you know what's good for ya, you won't wake me up in the morning."

She smiled and nodded. "Promise. Girl Scout's Honor."

He shook his head and sighed heavily in mock annoyance.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Now I'm gonna have to spend the whole night tryin' not to picture you in a goddamn Girl Scout uniform."

Rolling her eyes, she started up the stairs. "Good night, Sawyer," she said in a firm voice.

"You're killin' me, Freckles," he called after her plaintively.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks, guys! And to be honest, I don't usually like the idea of them getting off the island either, but this story was swarming around in my head like a virus, so I had no choice but to get it out. Lol. ;)

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**Chapter Six**

In a sense, she kept her word. When he opened his eyes the next morning, he was alone - the door was closed, and there was nothing there to disturb him. But _something _had awakened him, that was for damn sure. What was it? He waited, listening, trying to figure out what had interrupted his sleep.

Then he heard it again...a dull thud, followed by a dragging, grinding sound. What the fuck? His first instinct was to be worried about her...Had somebody come into the house? He couldn't hear any voices, but _something _strange was going on. Getting out of bed quickly and pulling on his jeans, he followed the sound downstairs and then came to a halt in the doorway of the living room, bewildered.

Every single item of furniture was collected in the middle of the room, some of it upended, half of it piled on top of other pieces of furniture. It looked like some kind of bizarre vortex had sucked everything into a central position and then fizzled out, leaving it stranded there.

He looked around in utter confusion, thinking nobody was in the room. All of a sudden, Kate's head emerged on the far side of the pile from behind a rocking chair. She was back in her original jeans and tank top again, and her hair was pulled into a ponytail. To complete the ensemble, she was armed with a dusting cloth and a broom.

"Hey," she said, a little breathlessly.

At first he couldn't even form words. Finally, he sputtered, "_What the hell is this_!"

Completely unaffected by the tone of his voice, she looked at him almost sympathetically. "Did you do the furniture arrangement in here yourself?"

He had no idea what she was talking about. "Yes," he said defensively, trying to figure out where this could possibly be going.

"I thought so." She looked around skeptically. "You don't clean much either, do you?"

He continued to stare at her like she was from another planet.

"It'll look much better when I'm done with it, trust me. You won't even recognize the place."

Finally, it started to dawn on him what she was talking about. She was _cleaning_. And not just cleaning, but, God help him..._redecorating_.

Pissed off, he shot back at her, "Yeah? And exactly who the hell gave you permission to do any of this, might I ask? You even remember whose damn house this is, Freckles? Because all I said was that you could _hide out _here...I don't recall signin' up for no Extreme Makeover, Convict Edition!"

She sighed impatiently. "I can't just sit around all day, Sawyer. I've never been able to do that. Especially at times like this...If I try to relax, I start thinking too much." She seemed distant for a few seconds, but shook herself out of it, vigorously jabbing the broom underneath an end table. "What else am I gonna do to pass the time?"

"I got some better ideas than _this_," he muttered bitterly.

She laughed and said wryly, "Yeah, well. I'll keep those in mind." After a few seconds, she turned toward him again. "At least it's not possible for it to look any worse than it did. There's that consolation."

He narrowed his eyes at her with contempt. "You coulda at least _asked_."

"You told me not to wake you up! I was just...following your orders," she said with relish.

"Well, you obviously didn't follow 'em too well, did you, because you woke me up anyway! Sounds like a damn herd of circus elephants let loose in here...Talk about a lovely thing to greet your ears at..." He stopped. "What time is it!"

"One," she answered crisply.

Damn it. He had to quit sleeping so late.

Irritated, he turned to head toward the kitchen, but then looked back at her, a little hopefully. "You gonna make breakfast?"

She looked at him incredulously and gave a short laugh. "No! I ate hours ago. I think you can find something for yourself."

He looked disappointed.

She wasn't sympathetic. "Did you really think I was gonna cook three meals a day for you?"

"You gotta pay the rent somehow, sweet cheeks. And I don't see you takin' me up on any of my other offers."

She rolled her eyes but then seemed to consider. "I'll put on another pot of coffee, but that's _it_. After that you're on your own." He turned to go, but she called after him. "First help me move this bookcase, though...it weighs a ton."

He heaved a deep sigh and moved angrily over toward the bookcase. Glaring at her, he grabbed one side while she took the other. Together, they pulled it out and dragged it across the floor. As she maneuvered around to his side to fit the case into a corner, his hand slipped and grazed her breast. Pretending she hadn't noticed, she quickly moved back around to the other side without looking at him. What the hell was her problem? he thought. She couldn't even let him cop a feel _by accident_.

To lessen the awkwardness, she said abruptly, "Oh, I forgot to tell you...your air conditioner's broken."

"I know that," he replied, annoyed. "Been broke for five years."

"Well...Don't you think it's about time to get it fixed?"

"Don't you think I would've already if I wanted to?"

"It's _miserably _hot in here, Sawyer." She seemed to be talking to a bratty five-year-old.

"It's September...it'll cool down soon enough," he said as he pushed the bookcase as far back as it would go. "Which won't make a hell of a lot of difference to you, because you won't _be _here, now, will ya?"

"That's true. But...it doesn't change the fact that it's still hot _now_."

"Look, if you think I'm gonna shell out three hundred bucks to get the damn thing fixed just so that you can be more comfortable movin' around furniture that don't even belong to you, you're outta your mind!"

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Okay," she said finally, in a tone that was almost amused. "Suit yourself."

He followed her into the kitchen where she took the can of newly-purchased coffee down from the cabinet. Could she even tell how much she was annoying the hell out of him? he wondered. If so, it didn't seem to affect her at all. He really didn't know if he was going to be able to handle this. He'd never been around a woman for such an extended period of time before. His method was generally to sleep with them and then send them home for their husbands to deal with. Besides the fact that the husbands were loaded, it was one of the bonuses of having affairs with married women.

A vague idea drifted into his head, and before he could even mull it over or decide whether he liked it or not, he blurted it out.

"I think maybe this whole thing would work better if I just got outta here and let you have the house."

She turned toward him from where she was measuring out the coffee crystals, thinking it was a joke. She was a little surprised to see that he was serious.

"I mean, I'll still..." he faltered. "I can still bring you groceries and stuff...so you don't have to go out or nothin'. But seems like it might be better for both of us if I didn't stay here."

There was a definite glint of disappointment in her eyes, but she turned back to the coffee and shrugged in an attempt at casualness. "Yeah...that's fine...I mean, whatever you want to do. It's no big deal." She glanced back at him. "I've hidden out on my own before, so...I'm pretty used to it."

It was impossible not to pick up on the trace of sadness in her tone. He wanted to kick himself. Why the hell had he said that? He didn't really want to leave. All right, he did... but he knew that the second he was gone, he'd be plagued with worries about her.

She poured the water into the coffee maker and replaced the pot, flipping the button on. "Should be ready in a few minutes." She tried not to look at him as she went back into the living room, because he was too good at reading her. She didn't want him to know how much she hated the thought of being alone.

He sat down at the table, more conflicted than he'd ever been. Would he ever learn to keep his stupid mouth shut? At least until he'd decided what he even _wanted_? He finally decided he'd retract it somehow...come up with some reason why he couldn't go. It had just been an idea, anyway. He hadn't said anything definite, had he?

When the coffee pot was filled, he poured himself a cup and headed back upstairs. On the way he grabbed the phone book to look up the address of the goddamn air conditioning repairman.

* * *

He spent a few hours working on his truck, trying to get it running, but to no avail. He could've just had a mechanic look at it, he supposed, but for some reason he wanted to do it himself. Although he'd been fiddling around with it off and on for years without much luck, it had become almost like a pleasant hobby by now. If the thing had actually started working, he might have been a little disappointed.

After he'd gone in and showered, he came back down to the living room. She almost had the place put back together, and he was amazed at how different it looked. She was right...it was barely recognizable as the same room. It looked a thousand times better. It was almost too bad that there was no way in hell he'd ever tell her that.

Noticing him standing there, she stopped and waited.

"I'm gonna head on into town," he said.

Trying unsuccessfully to cover her disappointment, she nodded. "Okay. I've probably got enough stuff here to last for about...four days?" She was making an effort to sound business-like and distracted. "So...If you want to come by on Saturday.. I can write out another list.."

"That's not what I meant," he interrupted, watching her carefully. "I got some errands to run, is all." He paused, pretending to be in deep thought. "Been thinkin' about it, and it occurs to me that you're prob'ly the last person in the world I want to leave here alone with all my shit. I'd most likely come back to find the place cleared out."

She looked down at the ground and smiled a little. It was an insult, but she was almost glad to hear it, considering what it meant. "You never know," she replied slyly.

"Yeah," he said, his expression softening a little. "So I guess you're stuck with me."

She looked back up at him, and it didn't take a con-man to be able to read the grateful expression on her face. Breaking their gaze reluctantly, he headed for the door. "Don't worry about cookin' anything, I'll get dinner." _Jesus_, those words sounded strange to his ears...Such a normal thing to say, but had he ever said anything like that before?

"Okay."

"Don't forget to lock up!" he called as he went out.

* * *

By the time they'd polished off the pizza he'd brought back, it was completely dark. They sat in the sweltering kitchen, not really sure what to do next. It was insufferably hot, and both of them were visibly sweating.

Sawyer finally spoke, reluctantly. "Stopped by the repair place...air conditioning guy should be out tomorrow at two. So you'll have to make yourself scarce unless you want him to see you here."

She bit off the end of a pizza crust and looked at him comically. "Hm."

"_What_?" he asked, defensively.

"I didn't say anything." She tried not to smile.

He tilted back in his chair, annoyed.

After a few minutes she sighed deeply. "God, I wish I could go outside. After living on the island so long, being trapped indoors like this is about to make me lose my mind."

He thought for a second. "There's a path that goes down to the lake...runs through a pretty thick grove of trees. I don't see why we couldn't go down there for a few minutes."

She shook her head, worried. "No...it's too risky. Especially after what happened last night."

"I told you that probably wasn't anything. And even if it came back, the light beam wouldn't be able to penetrate through all the trees."

She seemed to consider. "What about your neighbors?"

"Only got the one. And that moron's so stoned off his ass every night he probably wouldn't notice if we walked right into his house."

"You really think it would be safe enough?" She looked at him searchingly. She seemed to want him to take the decision out of her hands, for some reason.

"Yeah. It'll be fine," he said firmly. He almost added, "I promise," but stopped himself in the nick of time. That would be a little too over-the-top.

"All right," she said nervously. "No flashlights, though."

"Won't need 'em. There's a full moon out."

She cleared the table off while he grabbed a beer from the fridge, then, on second thought, grabbed another one, holding it out to her. She hesitated, but then took it.

They made their way outside, and after a few seconds, he located the beginning of the path out behind the shed. Luckily, it was established and well-worn enough that it didn't have to be mown often - the dirt was packed down so solidly that it was pretty much a permanent fixture. They started down it single file, Sawyer in front. At one point, Kate tripped over a root and grabbed his arm for balance, but then let go as quickly as she could. "Sorry," she said shortly.

The path finally opened up onto a small area of bank bordering the lake. They descended down the hill to the dock, and Sawyer tentatively tested it with his weight to see if the wood was showing any signs of rotting. It felt as solid as ever. He gestured to her to join him, and when she got to the edge, she immediately took her sandals off and dangled her feet in the water. He had to smile.

She looked up at him, questioningly. "You gonna sit down?"

He lowered himself beside her on the narrow edge of the dock. There was barely room for two people to fit there, but she still managed to keep an inch of space between them. He popped the tab on the can. She followed suit, and for a moment they drank, neither one speaking.

When he'd finished his beer, Sawyer crinkled the can with his hand and dropped it off the edge of the dock into the lake. Wordlessly, Kate leaned over and fished it out, setting it on her opposite side. He tried not to roll his eyes.

After a few seconds of staring out at the view, she asked, "What is that...a jet?"

He looked up at the tiny blinking red light moving soundlessly across the sky. "Yep."

"It looks so small from here," she said in a quiet voice. "It's weird to think of all the people inside that thing...All those separate lives..just...floating around up there." She continued to follow the blinking dot with her eyes. "They probably haven't even talked to each other."

"Let's hope for their sakes that they end up at an airport so they don't _have to_."

She smiled and looked back down at the lake. "Do you miss it at all?"

"Miss what?"

"You know what." She paused. "The island."

"Do _you_?"

"I know it's crazy, but yeah. I really do." She went on, wistfully. "I think, in some ways, I'd be happier if we'd never been rescued at all."

He shook his head in contempt. "Your head ain't on right."

"You didn't answer my question, though. About whether you miss it."

He looked at her sideways, unable to tell her a complete lie. "I'll tell ya what I miss. I miss watchin' the doctor make a fool out of himself tryin' to play golf. Miss tellin' that little Cockney bastard where he can stick his guitar. And...Well, hell, I might as well admit it, Freckles. I miss the damn dog."

She laughed. "Me too."

After a few seconds of quiet, she sighed. "It's really beautiful here, isn't it?"

"It ain't bad," he agreed.

"It must have been a great place to be a kid...until...you know." she stopped, a little awkwardly.

"Yeah. It was nice while it lasted," he said, bitter.

"It kind of reminds me of where I grew up. Not the mountains, I mean. Just...how _quiet _it is."

"And where might that be?" he asked curiously.

"Iowa," she replied with a trace of irony.

"No kiddin'," he drawled slowly. "Have to say, sweetheart, I never would have pegged you for a country gal."

"Not just a country gal. A _farm _gal. We had cows," she continued, in an amusingly confidential tone of voice.

"Well, ain't you just full of surprises." He smiled at her.

She smiled back, but looked away as a shadow seemed to pass over her face. "Yeah, well...It didn't last long for me either. I got out of there as soon as I possibly could."

"How come?"

The shadow was darkening now. She was looking into the past, unable to turn her inward vision away from it, despite the horror of what she found there. He knew that feeling much too well. She shook her head shortly, abruptly. "Don't."

"You brought it up."

"I know. But...I can't." She pulled her feet out of the water and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around the top of them tightly.

He watched her, sympathetic but also fascinated. "You ever gonna tell me?"

"Maybe." Her voice was tight, and she was apparently trying to hold back tears. "But not tonight." When he didn't look away, she looked into his eyes, imploringly. "_Please_, Sawyer."

Sighing, he nodded slightly in acceptance and turned away. She rested her chin on the platform of her crossed arms, looking sadly out at the lake.

"Yeah, well." He spoke with a tone of finality. "Sounds like your childhood was about as much fun as mine was."

Rolling her chin around and resting her cheek on her arm, she faced him, and, with an attempt at a smile, whispered, "Just about."

He let a few seconds pass by, and then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, he leaned into her so that their sides were lightly pressed against one another. She tensed for just a fraction of a second, but didn't move away. There wasn't really anywhere to move, other than into the water. Accepting the comfort for what it was, and knowing instinctively that he wasn't going to try for anything more, she relaxed again.

With equally haunted eyes, the two of them continued to stare out over the darkened water as the moon rose higher in the sky.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you, guys! I'm still in awe that other people enjoy this besides me!

**agentalana: **That story about finding the abandoned house is awesome - it gave me chills! I've never actually been to Tennessee, but I live in the Ozark mountains of southern Missouri, and it's pretty similar geographically and culturally to the Appalachians.

**sugr4sawyr**: Dancing, check. I've added it to the agenda (although it might be awhile... ;)**

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**Chapter Seven**

It was happening again. The door swung open, letting in a gleam of lamplight from the hall. His dad's feet came into view and then entered the room, slowly, with sickening deliberateness. From under the bed, he tried to slow his terrified, ragged breathing. Pressing himself as far back against the wall as he could, he watched as his dad lowered himself into a sitting position on the bed. He tensed, waiting for the shot.

Instead, he heard a woman struggling, pleading. His mom? But she was already dead, lying in a gradually spreading pool of blood out in the front hall. The terrible sound continued, delaying the gunshot. This was out of sync...it never happened in this order. Something was _off_, here. The dream wasn't following its well-worn track.

The oddness of the sound allowed him to surface from his sleep, the fog in his brain lifting slowly, one layer after another. By the time he was almost awake, he began to realize that the noise wasn't part of the dream. As he reached complete alertness, the phantom woman cried out again, and his entire body jolted with realization.

_Kate_.

Frantically kicking the sheets off of his legs, he grabbed the pistol he kept in the drawer next to his bed. Making his way across the hall, he threw open her door with absolutely no idea of what he would find. Although the room was in almost complete darkness, he could just make out, with dawning relief, that she was still in bed, and that there was nobody else there.

She was having a nightmare, too.

Laying the gun down safely on the bureau, he moved over to the side of the bed and stopped, unsure of how to wake her. "Hey...Kate. Kate!" he called without touching her.

Her head continued to move uneasily on the pillow, and she was muttering something he couldn't make out, the words every once in awhile punctuated by a sharper cry. Her legs jerked convulsively under the sheets and then stretched out again.

Taking her by the shoulders, he started to shake her gently. "Hey, wake up, girl!" It didn't seem to be having any effect.

In a terrified voice that he'd never heard from her before, she moaned, "No..."

He shook her more firmly. "Kate! Gotta wake up, now!"

Suddenly, with no warning at all, her arm came up as she elbowed him forcefully in the jaw. The power of the blow sent him staggering backwards onto the floor. The noise of him falling finally awakened her completely, and she sprang out of the bed, retreating to a corner where she switched on a lamp.

She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, looking around in confusion and fear.

"God _damn_, Freckles! What the hell was that for!" He pulled himself back into a standing position, rubbing his jaw painfully.

She focused in on him, surprised to see him there. She still looked defensive, as if she would have no problem at all killing anybody who came near her at the moment. "What...? What are you doing in here?"

"I was _tryin' _to wake you up!" he shouted. "Thought maybe you'd like to get out of that nightmare you were havin.' Maybe next time I'll just let you stay in it."

"No.." She still looked distressed. "There was...there was somebody in here." She stopped, thinking. "Wasn't there?"

"Nobody but me," he replied, a little sullenly. He felt kind of bad for yelling at her. She obviously didn't have a clue what was going on. "It was just a dream."

She continued to let her eyes wander around the room, but the truth of the situation was becoming apparent to her now, and she seemed embarrassed. "Oh," she said in a small voice.

After a few seconds, she moved slowly over to the bed and sank down on the edge of it. He sat down next to her, still holding his hand to his jaw.

She glanced at him sideways a little sheepishly. "Did I get you pretty good?"

"I'll live," he said, still annoyed. "Hell of an elbow-jab you got there, sweetheart. I been around a lot of pissed off girls in my time, and they don't fight like that. Somebody _trained _you to do that, didn't they?" He watched her closely.

She looked into his eyes for a second, but it was clear she wasn't going to answer. Glancing over toward the open door, she waited a few seconds and then said in a quiet voice, "Sorry I woke you up."

"Don't worry about it. Didn't wake me up from anything good."

She nodded, understanding what he meant.

After a pause, she sighed. "I haven't had that dream in a long time. I think...it might have been because of what we were talking about out there. I never should have said anything about..." She took a deep breath and went on almost in a whisper. "About Iowa."

He waited. There was no point in asking her what the dream had been about. Not a chance in hell she'd tell him.

She went on. "It was stupid. I should have known this would happen." She glanced at him and made an attempt to smile, but she seemed angry at herself. "No more trips down memory lane for me."

He nodded his head once in acknowledgement. "I'll try and remember that."

They sat without speaking for a few seconds. She fiddled with a strand of her hair, a faraway, disturbed look in her eyes, and it was obvious to him that she was thinking about the very thing she'd just declared she didn't want to think about. He tried to come up with something that would lighten the mood, at least a little.

"Don't recall tellin' ya you could have that t-shirt to sleep in."

She looked down at the shirt in question and smiled slightly. "I had to sleep in _something_."

"And why's that?"

Almost laughing now, she looked up at him. "For occasions just like this one."

"Yeah," he said, amused. "Well, you look better in it than I do, anyway."

She seemed to feel a little better now.

He asked hesitantly, "Gonna try to go back to sleep?"

Considering, she looked over at the clock. "I don't think so. I don't want to risk another one of those." She stood up and grabbed the bathrobe from a nearby chair. Pulling it on, she said, "It's almost four. I think I'll just go on down and make some coffee, try to stay awake." Lifting Pride and Prejudice off of the nightstand, she went on. "Besides, this is getting really good. They're starting to realize they don't hate each other." She looked at him meaningfully, and then dropped her gaze, seeming embarrassed.

He smiled a little at her discomfort, then followed her out into the hall. "Want some company?"

She thought for a second, but then said. "That's okay. You should probably try to get back to sleep...I still feel bad for waking you up."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she nodded. Her eyes said exactly the opposite, though, and the fact didn't escape him. "I'll see you in the morning. Well, _later _in the morning," she corrected herself. Giving him one last lingering look, she disappeared down the flight of stairs.

He stood there, unsure what to do. She clearly was only saying that because it was her automatic reaction to push people away. Should he follow her down? Every fiber of his being urged him to, but he still couldn't seem to make his feet move. What the hell could he do if he went down there? If they were sleeping together, it would be different...he might be able to make some effort at comforting her. But with the awkward physical barrier between them, what was he supposed to do? _Talk_? He was hopeless at that touchy-feely shit. He'd somehow end up either insulting her or coming onto her, however inadvertently.

For the first time, he began to wish that she _had _gone to Jack, for _her _sake. He would have known exactly what to do in a situation like this. Hell, he'd probably be down there with her already, getting her to cry on his shoulder and whipping up some pancakes and eggs for her during the breaks. Sawyer couldn't _do _that. He doubted himself too much to even make the attempt.

Feeling bitter and useless, he went back into his room and closed the door.

* * *

Making a subconscious effort not to sleep so late, he woke up around ten. Okay, maybe it was the smell of frying bacon that woke him up, but he liked to think that his willpower had _something _to do with it. She must have decided to make breakfast...and he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity like that. 

When he entered the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was that she was wearing the damn dress again. _Great_. He couldn't quite put his finger on why it disturbed him so much, but evidently she was planning to make it an established part of her meager wardrobe, at least while she was here. It seemed that she was going to alternate between the jeans and the dress, so that half the time she would look like Kate and the other half she would look like..._that_. What a perfect way to screw with his balance and keep him permanently off-kilter.

He cleared his throat, and she turned, giving him her best Donna Reed smile. "Morning, dear."

Christ, did she have to _mess _with him like that? He knew she was just joking, but he wished she wouldn't. The delusion was oddly painful.

He made an attempt to assume his standard demeanor. "Lordy, woman, are you cookin' up a whole pig? Guess all that tossin' and turnin' musta made you hungry."

"Not really. Besides, I'm a vegetarian."

"Vegetarian who eats pepperoni pizza?" he asked in a smart-ass tone as he sat down at the table.

She smiled as if she'd been caught. "All right - I'm a _part-time _vegetarian. But I don't do bacon."

"Yeah? Who's it for, then?"

"I figured somebody around here might be interested in it. Seems to work pretty well as an alarm clock, if nothing else," she said, slyly. "You want one egg, or two?" She waited.

Turning around to face him, she met a blank stare. "Sawyer."

"What?" he asked, jerking abruptly.

"One egg or two?" she repeated slowly, looking bemused.

"Uh...one. One's fine."

She cracked an egg into the skillet and gave him another quizzical glance.

After a few seconds, he spoke, haltingly. "Next time I'm out and about, you want me to, uh...try to..get you some more clothes, or somethin'? Since you didn't exactly plan ahead for the trip?"

She looked at him, considering. "I appreciate the offer, but the thought of what you would bring back is...kind of terrifying," she said with a comical grimace.

He laughed slightly and nodded his head. "Yeah...you got a point there. Never claimed to be a shopper."

Lifting the egg out with a spatula, she laid it on the plate with the bacon and carried it over to the table. "I _washed _it," she said somewhat defensively as she set the plate in front of him. "It doesn't smell like mothballs anymore."

"Sure hope you used the gentle cycle, sassafras, because that fabric's sixty years old...it's liable to just disintegrate on you at any second. Wouldn't want that now, would we?"

She sat down at the table and looked at him wryly. "I'm actually impressed that you even know what the 'gentle cycle' _is_."

He gave her a sarcastic look and picked up a piece of bacon. Pausing, he asked, "You just gonna sit there and watch me eat?"

"No," she said, standing back up. She seemed a little sad and distracted, despite her smile. "I don't know what I'm doing...lack of sleep makes me act weird."

She headed toward the doorway, and then turned back towards him. "Hey...I saw on a commercial this morning that Hurley's gonna be on The View to talk about what it was like to live on the island...You want to watch it?"

He shot her a look that told her all she needed to know.

Laughing slightly, she said, "I didn't think so."

Before she could leave, he forced himself to ask her, awkwardly, "You feelin' okay? I mean, after last night and all?"

She looked down at the floor, thoughtful. "Yeah...I mean...It takes awhile to shake it off, completely. But, I'm fine. Just...tired." She looked back up at him, hoping he would believe that and let it go.

He nodded, not knowing what else to say.

She went on through the doorway and into the living room. It occurred to him, too late, that he should have thanked her for breakfast. Just one more thing that he couldn't get right.

* * *

After fixing herself a sandwich for lunch, Kate sat in the living room with the TV on, trying hard not to fall asleep. She didn't have the energy to do anything vigorous like cleaning or rearranging furniture, but she was afraid if she took a nap the nightmare might come back. It had a tendency to repeat in cycles, and she wanted more than anything to avoid it. It would help if all the drapes didn't have to be so tightly closed - the house was so damn dark. 

Thankfully, Sawyer was helping to keep her awake, even though he didn't know it. He was trying to fix the hinges on the back door, a job he clearly had no idea how to do. Every few minutes, the house echoed with a loud cry of "Son-of-a-_bitch_!" or something along those lines. She smiled slightly. Who would ever have thought listening to him bitch and moan would be strangely _comforting_?

Hearing the door slam, she turned her head and tried not to laugh as he came into the room and collapsed onto a chair, exhausted.

Looking at the TV, he glanced at her comically. "So what's goin' on here?"

"Well," she began confidentially. "Julian thinks that Melinda did something to make her lose their baby, but what he doesn't know is that the baby was _really _Diego's...and Diego's mother kidnapped it so that she and her lover, Pierce, could raise it. But the real twist is that...Pierce is Melinda's _brother_."

"Gotta say, Freckles, I never woulda thought you were the soap-opera watchin' kind of girl."

"I'm not," she said with a smile, turning the TV off. "And now I remember why."

Suddenly, a knock at the front door sounded. They both looked at each other, paralyzed with shock. Moving into action at the same time, they stood up as the knock sounded again.

"Should I...Should I hide?" Kate asked, worried.

"Yeah..you better." As she started out of the room toward the pantry, Sawyer seemed to think of something.

He called her back. "Wait." He looked both relieved and annoyed at himself. "It's probably the damn air conditioner guy."

"Oh," she breathed out in relief, feeling like an idiot. They'd both completely forgotten about him.

The knock came again, sounding impatient.

"I'll just go upstairs, then." Halfway up, she turned and said warningly. "Make sure you don't let him come up here."

"I _won't_," he said, annoyed that she would even feel it necessary to say that.

Waiting until he heard the door of her room shut, he finally let the guy in.

* * *

It took much longer than he'd expected, and what made it even more annoying was the fact that the kid was a talker. Instead of just shutting up and doing his job, he wanted to ask Sawyer questions about the plane crash and the island, and despite the rudeness of the responses he got, he just wouldn't take the hint. He reminded him of Charlie a little, except for the fact that his accent was Southern instead of British. Just like Charlie, he found it necessary to incessantly mention the fact that he was in a band, although there was no apparent reason for this at all. 

Finally, after an excruciating two hours, the kid got the thing fixed and made out the bill. Sawyer grudgingly wrote a check for the $275, feeling pissed off at Kate once again. Anytime he had to shell out money, it made him pissed at someone.

He watched until the truck had disappeared around the bend in the long, winding driveway, and then went back inside. "All right, coast is clear!" he hollered up the stairs. "You wanna do the honors of turnin' the damn thing on?"

No answer. Thinking that she probably couldn't hear him, he went up and knocked at the door. "He's gone... you can come out now."

Still no answer. A little worried, he turned the handle of the door and softly inched it open a crack. "You still in here?"

As he poked his head in, a bit concerned, he saw that she was asleep. Swinging the door further open, he stood there quietly and looked at her for a minute. She was lying on her stomach like a little kid, her head turned towards the door. He watched her slow, deep breathing, fascinated. With an uneasy sense of recognition, he noticed that in her right hand, she was grasping a balled-up portion of the blanket, tightly. Even in sleep, the muscles of her hand didn't relax their grip. He knew that he often did the same thing himself...sometimes his hands ached for hours after he woke up.

He knew it was probably wrong to stand here and watch her like this, but he couldn't quite pull himself away. He felt something uprooting itself inside him; the moorings were shifting somehow and he was losing his footing. It wasn't just that having her here kept him frustrated in a physical sense - there was that too, of course...but that would be the same with any beautiful woman. Something else was happening, besides that...and it scared the hell out of him.

She looked so small and defenseless lying there. That was an illusion, he knew - she was _anything _but defenseless, and he still had a sore jaw to prove it. But still...the fact that there were dozens, if not hundreds, of trained detectives and law-enforcement officials out there somewhere, right now, hunting her down, using all their knowledge and authority to find her and overpower her... The thought of it filled him with a rage that he had never known before in his life. It was like nothing he'd ever felt for himself.

He decided, then and there, that he would kill anybody that came after her here, without a second thought. He didn't care who they were or whether they were just doing their jobs - he would murder every goddamn one of 'em if that's what it took. Maybe he couldn't talk to her or make her feel any better about the past, but he could at least do that. It was maybe the one thing he _did _know how to do.

Closing the door softly so as not to wake her up, he went back downstairs to wait.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for the kind words everybody...You have know idea how much it means to me! I've always wanted to be a writer, but I've always been too afraid to write ANYTHING. This is only my fourth fanfic - I wrote the first one a month ago, so the fact that people like it makes me so glad I finally risked it.

southern cross: A haircut, huh? Have you been peeking at my notes? ;)

Jenny7: Wow, really? If I converted someone to the Skater cause, then all the hours writing are well-worth it. Lol.

Just a note - this chapter is a little shorter...it was going to be the first half of Chapter 8, but I forgot I had plans, so I'll turn the second half into Chapter 9 tomorrow. ;)

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**Chapter Eight**

"Feels nice and cool down here," Kate remarked as she came back down to the kitchen in the early evening.

"For two hundred seventy-five bucks, it sure as hell _better_," he said, trying to sound annoyed but not succeeding very well. The truth was, it felt a thousand times better, and he realized it'd been a little ridiculous not to get the thing fixed years ago. But then again, he didn't usually stay here for very long at a time. The house was really too big for just one person.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked incredulously, looking more closely at him.

"It's just spaghetti," he said, a little embarrassed.

She continued to stare at him.

"_What_?" he asked defensively. "Every idiot knows how to make spaghetti. Bachelor's got to have _some _tricks up his sleeve," he went on, winking at her.

"I guess so," she said, still a little surprised. "Can I help?"

He tossed her a tomato, and as she started to chop it, she noticed he kept glancing at her. She looked at him questioningly.

"You got pillow creases all over your face," he said with the trace of a smile.

"I fell asleep," she explained.

"Sure hope so...otherwise you might have a hard time explainin' 'em."

She closed her eyes for a second and smiled. "Have you ever timed yourself to see how long you can go without making a sexual innuendo?"

"What can I say, Freckles...I guess you just bring out the best in me."

"Yeah? I'd hate to see what your worst is like, then."

They smiled at each other playfully until it started to become uncomfortable, then went back to preparing dinner.

* * *

After they'd eaten Sawyer's (surprisingly good) spaghetti, they ended up back in the living room, bored and restless and on the verge of going stir-crazy. It was against both of their natures to be contained within the four walls of a house for this long, and the stress was beginning to make itself felt.

Normally, Kate would have taken her chances on the road in spite of the danger, but this time, she had to be more cautious. She'd been caught twice in less than two months, and the thought of it happening again filled her with a dread that made her almost sick. Being stuck in a house for a few weeks was better than being stuck in a prison cell for the rest of her life. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

Pulling aside the drapes, she peeked longingly out the window. It wasn't completely dark yet, so going back down to the lake was out.

"Got big plans for this evening, Puddin'?" Sawyer asked, watching her.

"Yeah. I'm just waiting for my date to show up," she said dryly, closing the drapes again.

"If you want, I can try to get the air conditioner guy back here. I'm willin' to bet he's available," he said in a mocking tone.

Laughing, she said, "I'll pass on that."

She sighed. Sawyer pretended to watch a baseball game that he had no interest in at all. After a few minutes, Kate seemed to have an idea. Her face took on an almost cunning look.

"You'll never guess what I found in that little closet under the stairs yesterday while I was cleaning."

He looked over at her, a little disturbed. "Look, some buddy gave me that thing... as a _joke_. Ain't even really mine. Been meanin' to get rid of it..." He trailed off, defensive and uncomfortable.

Kate was confused but also trying not to laugh. "_What_?"

"What are _you _talkin' about," he asked, carefully.

Still looking at him like he was insane, she went out to the hall and then returned a few seconds later, holding a Monopoly game.

"Oh..." He breathed out in relief. "What the hell you want to do with _that_?"

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he said, turning his attention back to the ballgame. "Don't you think we're a little old for that?"

"Come _on_, Sawyer," she pleaded. "How long has it been since you've played this?"

"Not long enough."

"I'll let you go first," she said enticingly.

He ignored her. She came and stood in front of him, blocking his view.

"Do you mind? I'm tryin' to watch this!"

"If you can tell me which two teams are playing, then I'll move," she said slyly.

He looked up at her with scorn, but she had him. He had no idea who was playing. He sighed, annoyed. Then, seeming to relent slighly as a thought occurred to him, he asked playfully, "All right...what's the winner get?"

"_What_?"

"I'm not gonna play no board game unless there's somethin' worth playin' for."

"What do you want?" she asked in a weary tone, expecting to hear one of his standard inappropriate requests.

He seemed to be preparing for this too, but at the last second his face changed, becoming a little more serious. He looked at her directly. "I'll tell ya what I want. If I win, I want you to promise me that you won't run out of here until we know it's really safe."

She was confused. "Are you serious?"

He laughed a little bitterly. "Yeah, I'm serious. I can tell you're gettin' antsy, and I don't want to wake up one mornin' to find out you split in the middle of the night and stole my car."

She rolled her eyes slightly. "I wouldn't do that."

But still, she was touched. She'd been assuming that he wanted her gone at the first opportunity, but was it possible he was actually concerned for her welfare instead of just his own? She hadn't really considered it before. But it also worried her. It wouldn't be a good idea for him to start caring about her. It had never worked out well for anybody who'd attempted it before.

"Take it or leave it," he said.

Smiling slightly, she nodded. "All right. What about if I win?"

"Name it."

"Okay...how about you stop leaving the toilet seat up?"

"Well, I guess I better play my best then," he said with a grin. She laughed.

They spread the game out on the floor and chose their tokens.

"The shoe?" Kate asked dubiously.

"What? I like the shoe."

"I would've thought you were more of a horse-and-rider or battleship kind of guy."

"I've always been the shoe...You gotta problem with that?"

"Nope," she said, lifting her hands up in mock surrender. "You're the shoe."

Kate chose the car.

"What a surprise," Sawyer muttered. She pretended not to hear him.

Since she rolled the highest number, Kate went first. Upon landing on the Community Chest square, she drew a card. As she lifted it from the deck, Sawyer saw the expression on her face cloud over for just the merest fraction of a second, but then she covered it with an ironic smile.

Flipping the card over, she showed him. It read, "Go directly to jail."

Picking up her token, she said, "What are the chances, huh?"

She placed the car delicately onto the jail square, feeling her hand shake a tiny bit and hoping Sawyer wouldn't notice. It was just a stupid game...it didn't mean anything at all. She didn't believe in signs like that - she never had. She couldn't explain why it bothered her.

He watched her closely for a second. She tried to smile. "Your turn."

He landed on the same spot she had and drew a card. He shook his head slowly. "You ain't gonna believe this, Freckles." He held it up. The Get Out of Jail Free card.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, both somewhat regretting that they'd decided to play.

"Sell it to ya," Sawyer offered in an attempt at playfulness.

"Yeah?" Kate looked down. "For how much?"

"Wellll..." he considered in a slow drawl. "Since the game just started, I reckon it's not worth very much yet. Say...ten bucks?"

She looked at him, oddly grateful, even though she knew none of this meant anything at all.

Handing him a twenty, she smiled. "Keep the change." He grabbed more of her hand than necessary while taking the bill, but she acted like she didn't notice.

After an hour of playing, Kate's mood had improved greatly, while Sawyer's most certainly had _not_. He was in debt up to his eyeballs, and nearly all his properties were mortgaged. Conversely, by Monopoly standards, Kate was a wealthy tycoon.

She couldn't help taunting him. "Can I help it if you're a terrible investor?"

"Yeah? Well maybe if someone didn't steal all the good properties just to be greedy, I woulda had a chance!"

"It's Monopoly, Sawyer! Being greedy is the whole point."

He glared at her, causing her to laugh.

"You're such a sore loser."

The more money he forked over, the more he lost interest in the game. He started to spend most of his time watching her. Despite being pissed at losing, it was nice to see her happy for a change. At least it had taken her mind off of everything else.

In an over-exuberant roll of the dice, she sent one flying off the edge of the board over in his direction. Acting sullen, he refused to retrieve it for her, so, balancing on her knees and placing her hands on the opposite side of the board, she reached over to grab it. From Sawyer's position leaning on his side, this brought her face within just inches of his. Her hair brushed against his arm.

As she closed her hand around the dice, her eyes met his and she stopped for a second. Without thinking or reasoning through the move at all, he leaned up a little, and placing one hand on the side of her face gently, brushed his lips lightly against hers. She relaxed for an instant, closing her eyes, but as he pressed more firmly, kissing her bottom lip, she suddenly jerked back as if an alarm system had been triggered. Standing up in the same motion, her foot kicked the game and the houses and hotels went skittering in every direction.

Staring at each other in shock for a few seconds, Sawyer finally looked away and leaned all the way back onto the floor, putting his hands behind his head in a gesture of barely contained rage. He breathed out slowly in an attempt to control his frustration.

She was shaking all over, trying to keep from crying. She turned away, knowing that tears would probably make him more angry. "Sawyer..." she began, haltingly. "I... You know...I won't be here much longer." She stopped, not knowing what to say. "It just...it would be so complicated..."

"You know what?" he said savagely, sitting up with a jerk. "Don't even bother, sweetheart. I _get the point, _okay? Loud and clear. Why don't you just save yourself the trouble."

Standing up, he looked at her for a few seconds, contempt mixed with regret. In a tone more bitter than any she'd ever heard him use, he went on. "I won't make the same mistake again, don't you worry. Guess sometimes it just takes awhile for things to_ sink in _with me."

She remained facing away from him, knowing that if she tried to turn around she would break down.

"I'm goin' out. Don't wait up."

A few seconds later, she heard the door slam.

Collapsing onto the couch, she put her head in her hands and tried to control her breathing. It was no use, and she finally gave in to the tears.

It wasn't just that she was upset because of the fact that she'd hurt him. It was that when he kissed her, every single molecule in her body reacted immediately, and she wanted nothing more in the world than to give in to it.

But the dangerous fact was that a kiss between them could never be just a kiss. The electricity generated was much too strong for that - once the fuse was lit, it would continue until it burned itself out. They had barely been able to stop the first time it happened, and that was when he'd been tied to a tree with blood coursing down his face and she'd been bribed into it. What was there to stop them now?

It couldn't happen. She was determined that she couldn't form any attachments like that. It was too dangerous for him, and it was certainly too dangerous for her. Her life was so screwed up that _no one _else should have to deal with it, even someone who could partially relate. She didn't want a sexual fling, and despite his macho insinuations, she didn't think he really wanted that either. The connection that took place when they looked at each other was something more than that, and she'd known that from the beginning, but had tried not to think about it.

She'd been drawn to him because they had a mutual understanding, and that was what had brought her here for shelter when she was out of options. But that link was threatening to turn into something else - it was on the cusp of transition, and she blamed herself for refusing to acknowledge it until now.

Forcing herself to stop crying, she made an attempt to re-erect her emotional barriers. As she sadly gathered up the scattered pieces of the game and replaced them in the box, she came to a decision.

She would leave tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

You guys are all my new best friends, okay? ;)

southern cross - I can't believe you predicted the bar scene and the slut...LMAO. But even though it's predictable, I just had to do it anyway..

And as for what was in Sawyer's closet - I honestly didn't have anything specific in mind when I wrote that. However, my friend seems to think it's a blow-up doll, so...do with that what you will.. Lol. ;)

Two chapters in this little update!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

He sat at a table at the back of the bar in a cloud of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume, looking at the woman across from him. She was gorgeous - silky blonde hair, green eyes, and at least a D-cup. She was also rich, lonely, wearing a wedding ring, and well on her way to being wasted. She was absolutely everything he'd ever looked for in a woman before the crash. And he couldn't force himself to feel the tiniest bit of interest in her.

She was eyeing him hungrily, and every once in awhile she giggled, although he hadn't said anything funny, or really much of anything at all. He had the knack for attracting these types of women without even really trying. He could have taken her home that minute, easily. As a matter of fact, he probably could have had her out back behind the bar, and she wouldn't have put up much of a protest.

And wasn't that exactly what he'd come here for? To find someone who actually _did _appreciate what he had to offer? Then why was just the thought of it making him feel disgusted? he wondered.

He sighed bitterly and rubbed his hand over the back of his head.

"Aww..what's 'a matter?" she asked in a slurred voice. "You got a headache?"

"Yeah," he said shortly, not really paying attention to her. He couldn't even remember if he'd gotten her name. Probably not.

"Bet I could make it go away," she answered, trying to give him a meaningful look but having trouble focusing her eyes.

I doubt that, he thought. Out loud, he responded by rote, "Think so?"

"Mmm-hmm." She took another sip of whatever the hell it was she was drinking. He'd bought the drinks for her without even noticing what they were. Obviously something strong.

Continuing to stare at him, she went on. "You got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

"You think my eyes are nice, baby, you oughtta see what my mouth can do."

She giggled again and looked at him lustfully. He barely noticed. All he could think about was the eye-roll and annoyed shake of the head he would have gotten if he'd said something that ridiculous to Kate. He almost smiled picturing it.

Taking another drink, she leaned in and whispered loudly, "My car's right outside."

But he didn't hear her. Looking into the adjoining room at the bar where the pool table was, he'd recognized somebody he knew. Some bastard who owed him money. What was his name? Travis something...

He didn't really care too much about getting the money back - he'd accomplished some ridiculously lucrative scams in the past few years and had several bank accounts under different names with enough to last him for years if he needed it. But he wanted to get away from the woman. His plan wasn't working the way it was supposed to. He felt suffocated sitting here with her. It would take a hell of a lot more alcohol than he'd already had to get him to the point where he could endure sleeping with her, and he didn't feel like drinking that much tonight.

Standing up, he said, "I got to go talk business with someone, sweetheart. Be right back."

It took a second for her face to register the news and show disappointment. "Aww...do you have to?" she whined.

But he was already halfway across the room, relieved just to be away from the noxious smell of her perfume.

Entering the room, he saw the guy - Travis - glance up from where he was watching the pool game. A worried look passed across his face, but he tried to cover it with a sarcastic smile of welcome.

"Well well well, look what the cat drug in. We all thought you was dead."

"Been gettin' that a lot lately," Sawyer said. "Too bad for you I ain't."

Ignoring the implied threat in the words, Travis turned to another guy, apparently a friend, and explained, "This guy here was on that plane that crashed..you know the ones they found on that island?"

"No shit," the guy said in wonder.

"Yeah," Sawyer replied, annoyed. This was the last thing in the world he wanted to talk about right now.

The second guy continued. "So how's it feel to be back in civilization?"

"Swell," he answered sarcastically.

Noticing he was pissed off, but misinterpreting the reason, Travis drew him aside and said quietly, "Look, don't think I forgot that little..._business arrangement _between us last year... It's just that, well, things ain't been goin' so great for me lately, and right now, I got some _projects _that are just startin' to take off..."

But Sawyer didn't hear a word. His attention was distracted by the TV mounted in the upper left-hand corner of the room, just behind the pool table. The sound wasn't audible, but it seemed to be the 11:00 news. The segment being shown was grainy black-and-white security camera footage, apparently taken at a truck stop. But the blurry female figure the newscasters froze the tape and zoomed in on was recognizable to him instantaneously. Kate.

At the instant of realizing it was her, he felt like his heart had stopped. His first thought was that it was something recent, from tonight. How long ago had he left the house? Could she have taken off and made it that far...? But then he noticed the date at the bottom of the screen - it was from last week. Slowly, he let out his breath in relief.

When he realized he was being ignored, Travis turned his attention toward the TV as well. "Oh, hey...that's that girl, ain't it? The one that was on the plane?"

His friend looked too, and asked, "Did you know her?"

Travis grinned and looked at Sawyer slyly. "Yeah, I'll bet he knew her...I'll bet he knew her _real _well."

He felt his blood begin to boil and tried to control himself.

The other guy went on. "Hell, no offense, but if I was on an island with _that_, I don't think I woulda been tryin' too hard to get off. No cops around, I'd just take what I wanted," he said with a leer.

"Ain't you afraid she'd kill ya?" Travis asked.

"I'd die happy," he responded.

The two of them laughed, and Sawyer made every effort possible not to grab a pool cue and ram it through the son-of-a-bitch's neck. He himself had participated in this kind of offensive macho bullshitting hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. But the women he'd referred to then were different. They weren't Kate.

Not having any clue at all of the extent to which he was taking his life in his hands, Travis began again in a mock-rhetorical tone of voice, "See, the problem with these women convicts is that they waste 'em. They put 'em in these prisons with only other _women _around. Now what the hell's the good of that? They oughtta parcel 'em out in the regular prisons, so at least _someone _could get some use out of 'em."

His friend laughed. "Now you know good and well that wouldn't work. Hell, I'd be tryin' to get _myself _thrown in prison if I thought I'd get to share a cell with a nice little piece 'a ass as hot as..." Sawyer's fist caught him in mid-sentence, sending him reeling backward against the wall. All his rage and frustration from the entire miserable evening were concentrated in that one swing, but he still had plenty to spare.

In a drunken effort to defend his friend, Travis shoved Sawyer back against the pool table, but then was caught in a choke-hold and slammed viciously down onto the green felt. Sawyer felt unknown hands attempting to pull him off of the guy, and he turned, blindly swinging.

Within seconds, there were at least ten people involved in the fight.

* * *

Kate lay in bed, not sleeping. He'd told her not to wait up, and she hadn't...but she was still having trouble drifting off. Where the hell had he gone? Most likely to get drunk and hook up with some random whore. She knew him well enough to be able to predict his thought patterns. He would probably think that would bother her.

The most annoying thing, of course, was that it _would _bother her, she realized. She had no claim on him, especially after what she'd done tonight. And she was leaving tomorrow anyway, so what difference did it make what he did? _But if he brings her back here_, she thought, _so help me God_...

Suddenly, she heard his car pull into the driveway. Straining her ears, she tried to count the number of car doors that slammed shut. One. She waited, tense. Nothing. Then he must be alone. Well, that was a relief, at least. Even if she didn't have any right to feel that way, it was still a relief.

She heard him enter the house and close the door loudly, making no effort at all to be quiet. She could tell by the way he came heavily up the stairs that he was still angry. As she listened, he started to rummage around in the bathroom medicine cabinet. There was a crash and a shattering of glass, and she heard him mutter angrily, "_Shit_."

Getting out of bed quietly, she went down the hall and stopped in the open doorway of the bathroom. Taken aback by his appearance, she breathed in sharply. "My God, Sawyer, what _happened_?"

His shirt was ripped and there was a stream of dried blood on his arm. One eye was nearly swollen shut, his lip was split open, and there was a cut high above his left cheekbone. Turning from the sink to glare at her, he said bitterly, "Don't worry about it...doesn't concern you."

She started to come into the room, but in a flash he grasped her upper arms and shoved her firmly back out. "Broken glass all over the floor...you'll cut your feet up." Then he was annoyed at himself for the automatic protective gesture. She didn't deserve it. He went back to ignoring her.

She remained in the doorway, watching him wash the blood off, trying to think of something to say. "Do you want me to get the peroxide from the downstairs bathroom?"

"I'll handle this...I don't need your help," he answered with hostility.

"That eye's gonna close up completely in a minute, so you might as well let me..."

"Look," he said, interrupting her. "I don't need you to go all Florence Nightingale on me just so you can make yourself feel less guilty!"

"_Guilty_? What the hell do I have to feel guilty about?" As a matter of fact, she felt unbelievably guilty, but it annoyed her that he seemed to think she _should_.

He laughed contemptuously. "Come to think of it, you probably _wouldn't_, would you?"

"How is it my fault if you go out and get in a bar fight, Sawyer?"

"What makes you think it was a bar fight?"

"Lucky guess," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm just _predictable _like that," he sneered.

She sighed. This wasn't going anywhere. "Will you at least let me bandage that cut up?"

"I got it covered, all right?" he said savagely. "I been takin' care of myself just fine for years without your help. And I imagine I'll go on just fine without it when you skedaddle on outta here in a few days," he wound up, looking at her pointedly.

She looked down at the floor, hurt. When he didn't say anything else, she raised her eyes back up to his. He was watching her, a haggard look on his face.

"Just go on back to bed," he said quietly, in a tone of disgust.

Swallowing hard in disappointment and anger, she nodded sharply. "Fine," she whispered. Giving him one last painful look, she went slowly back down the hall and shut the door.

Sawyer grasped the sink and leaned over it with his eyes closed, feeling sick.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

When he came down the next morning, she was doing the dishes that they'd left in the sink the night before. He could tell by the tense set of her shoulders that she was angry, but when she turned and saw his bruised and scarred face, her expression softened. They looked at each other for a few seconds wordlessly, then she slowly turned back to the sink as he went over to the coffee maker.

As he lifted the pot, she seemed to remember something. "Oh, wait...that's from hours ago. I'll make some fresh."

"It's fine," he said shortly, pouring a mug.

"It's _ice cold_, Sawyer."

"I'll drink it."

"Would you stop being so stubborn?" she asked sharply. The tone of her voice surprised him. Before he could protest, she took the mug from him and poured the coffee down the sink. Annoyed, he sat down at the table to wait.

After she put on a fresh pot to brew, she went back to the dishes. They still hadn't said anything to each other about last night, and the silence was becoming tense.

Finally, she sighed deeply and seemed to steel herself for something. "I think I'm gonna go ahead and get out of your way. Tonight...after it gets dark." When he didn't answer, she turned to see how he was taking the news.

He stared down at the table, refusing to look at her. He'd expected something like this, but still...it felt like someone was crushing his heart in a winepress when he heard her say the words. She'd been in the house for less than a week, and already he couldn't imagine it without her.

"Sounds like you got it all planned out," he said, still not looking at her. "Word of advice though, kitten. You might want to steer clear of truck stops in the future - at least the kind that have _security cameras_." He looked up into her eyes at the last two words, and was somewhat gratified to see that she was startled.

"_What_? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Saw you on the news last night. You mighta left a little more of a trail comin' down here than you thought you did."

She was unnerved, but tried not to let him see it. "What city was it in?"

"I don't know...I couldn't hear it."

She turned back to the sink, slowly, making an effort to seem casual. "I'll keep that in mind."

He went on, knowing that he would hurt her but unable to stop himself. "Been wonderin' how you did it. Now it makes more sense. Not knowin' anyone or havin' any money...I guess those truckers are a girl's best friend, huh?" He watched her shoulders tense up again, but went on. "I just wonder what you had to offer 'em in return?"

She shot him a look filled with hatred. "Are you trying to make me sick?" With angry tears in her eyes, she continued. "I guess it's impossible for you to believe that some people do nice things without expecting anything _in return_." Looking at him pointedly, she was glad to see that the words hurt him. It was a low blow, but he'd started it.

He smiled bitterly and looked away. "All I can say is that you're lucky you're beautiful. Hate to think what it would be like to be an _ugly _fugitive on the run. Because coupled with your sunny personality, sweetheart, it'd make for one hell of a winning combination," he said sarcastically.

She glanced at him quickly. It had been couched in an insult, but the fact that he'd just called her beautiful didn't escape her notice. He realized it too, and was annoyed at himself.

When the coffee maker stopped brewing, they both started toward it and then stopped, awkwardly.

"I'll get it," Kate said. After she'd poured the mug, she sat it down on the table and then remained standing there in thought.

Sawyer sighed. "Look," he said wearily, as if it took a great effort to say what he was going to say. "Just so you know...I don't _expect _anything from you. You can stay here as long as you need to...I won't bother you anymore."

She closed her eyes for a second and said in a sad voice, "You weren't _bothering _me. It's not that." She looked at him, regretful. "Trying to live like this...it isn't fair to either one of us. I really think it'll be better... if I just go."

"And you think that's really a smart thing to do? You honestly think it's safe enough out there right now?"

"Of course it's not. It probably never will be. But I'm used to that."

"Don't you think it'd at least be better to wait until they stop plasterin' your face all over the news every night?"

She didn't answer. He was trying to wear her down when she'd already made up her mind. But although part of her was still determined to go, the rest of her was more than willing to let him convince her to stay.

"Besides," he went on as an idea came to him. "I got a project I need help with. Could use a _woman's _touch."

"What project?" she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

"That room you're sleepin' in? You probably noticed the wallpaper's peelin' off, right?"

"Yeah," she replied. "So?"

"So...I been meanin' to tear it off...put up some more."

"_You've _been planning to re-wallpaper," she said incredulously.

"Yep."

"Since _when_?" She tried not to smile.

"As a matter of fact, I've wanted to do it for years. Just couldn't find the right opportunity," he said coyly.

"Hm," she said, clearly not believing him.

"It'll take a couple days...by the time it's done, it'll be safer to move on."

She sighed. She should have known he would do this. The funny thing was that she'd have been disappointed if he'd just let her go.

He could see her hesitating, so he went on. "And I promise I won't come near you, if that's what you're worried about. I'll just...think of you like you're my little sister."

She tried not to laugh. "No offense, Sawyer, but you're the last person in the world I'd want for a big brother."

"Too bad," he said with a grin. "So... what do you say?"

"All right," she said softly, giving in. "But _just _until it's done...then I'm gone."

"Deal."

They looked at each other sadly for a few seconds, wondering how the hell this was going to work. Neither one had any interest in acquiring a new sibling.

* * *

He kept his promise - a little too well, in fact. They managed to maintain an awkward distance during the rest of the day as they stripped the ancient wallpaper. Any time they threatened to resume their former intimacy, they managed somehow to head it off.

He went in to get wallpaper samples that evening and made her choose the pattern. The next day, Monday, he went back to buy the paper and they began to hang it. Both of them, perhaps unconsciously and perhaps not, made numerous mistakes and went as slow as possible so that the job would last longer. Still, it only took till Tuesday afternoon, but by then it was already late, and both agreed that it would be silly for Kate to leave that day.

On Wednesday morning, Sawyer suddenly remembered that he hadn't paid any bills or looked at his bank account or insurance information in months. Women were good at that kind of thing, right? Kate admitted that she did have a knack for numbers. But she would _really _be leaving tomorrow.

On Thursday, there were heavy thunderstorms. It would be stupid to go in that kind of weather. One more day couldn't hurt.

On Friday, Kate had a migraine.

Saturday morning, Sawyer prepared to go back to the grocery store again. He'd been buying things on short errand runs every few days, but now it was time for a more thorough re-stocking. He made Kate write out the list again. As she handed it to him, she tried not to look directly at him.

"Kinda short, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, well...since I'm leaving tonight, it's basically just the stuff that you'll need for yourself."

He kept looking at her until he forced her to meet his eyes.

"Still...it's best to be prepared. Better add some more." He slid the list back over to her, watching her carefully.

"Sawyer," she sighed. Then, closing her eyes briefly, she paused. "All right. Just in case."

He watched her write, wondering if she would really go tonight or not. How many more delaying tactics could they come up with? They were bound to run out eventually. Their attempt at distance had barely lasted for a day, and they'd quickly reassumed their former manner toward each other. Things were getting close to the danger point again.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door echoed through the house. It was sharp, rapid, and authoritative - the kind of knock a cop might have. They looked at each other, almost sick with dread.

Wordlessly, Sawyer stood up and went into the pantry. Kate didn't move. She seemed to be frozen. "Come on!" he hissed. When she still didn't move, he went back and pulled her up, half dragging her toward the door. He could feel her knees trembling. "I put a gun down there on the shelf," he said hurriedly.

"_What_?"

He pulled up the opening to the root cellar, ignoring her. The knock came again, impatiently.

He helped her onto the ladder-stair combination that led down to the bottom. As she started to shakily descend, she looked back at him.

"Sawyer."

"Yeah," he said distractedly, glancing through the kitchen.

"Don't do anything stupid, okay? I'm not worth it."

He looked back at her, feeling a knot in his throat. They stared at each other intensely for a few seconds, both knowing that if this didn't go well, Kate might be in handcuffs the next time they talked to each other. She could obviously tell what he was planning. But there was no way in hell she could talk him out of it.

Breaking their gaze, she went the rest of the way down into the root cellar. He closed the opening and hurriedly replaced the mat. As he approached the front door, he grabbed the loaded gun he'd hidden inside the writing table in the hall. Trying not to let fear overcome him, he held the gun down at his side and opened the door a crack.

Nobody was there. He swung it open further, glancing around. There was a black BMW parked in the driveway. So it wasn't the police...He breathed out in relief. But he didn't know anybody who drove a car like that. Who the hell was it? And where had they _gone_?

All of a sudden, he heard the knock again, this time from the kitchen door. They were persistent, whoever it was. But the kitchen was alarmingly close to where Kate was hidden.

Going back through the house angrily and still considerably nervous, he re-entered the kitchen and moved toward the door. As he opened it, he halted in amazement and forced himself to look twice in case his deteriorating vision was playing tricks on him.

It was Jack.


	11. Chapter 11

I thought this was a really short chapter, but apparently, by word count, it's the longest one? Something seems weird - but no worries...I'll just continue with the rest in a new chapter tomorrow:)

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Jack nodded slightly in greeting. "Sawyer."

Then he looked down and with an expression of vague amusement asked, "Is that a gun in your hand, or are you just glad to see me?"

Sawyer looked down too, still not quite over his shock. He'd forgotten he was even carrying it around. "I was expectin' someone else," he said quickly, moving aside to let Jack in.

"I see," Jack replied, as if he wasn't particularly surprised that Sawyer would answer the door with a gun. He stepped into the kitchen and, without waiting to be invited, pulled out a chair at the table and sat down.

"Have a seat, Doc," Sawyer said sarcastically, setting the gun down on the countertop and trying to will his heart to stop thudding so heavily. He would have preferred to have led Jack into the living room somehow. Kate was practically right under their feet. But it would seem suspicious if he did it now, after he'd already sat down.

"What brings you to Tennessee? You takin' your services on the road?" He pulled out a chair and joined Jack at the table.

"Not exactly." He looked around curiously. "So...this is your house, huh? It's cleaner than I expected."

If only he knew _who'd _been cleaning it, Sawyer thought. Out loud, he asked, pointedly, "Somethin' I can help you with, Jack?"

He made sure to mention his name, because he knew Kate could hear every word they were saying from the root cellar. He'd hidden down there as a kid numerous times while his mother entertained "friends" - including the son-of-a-bitch who had destroyed all of their lives, the original Sawyer. So he was aware of how easily the conversation from the kitchen could be heard from there. If she hadn't recognized Jack's voice immediately (which he assumed she had), then now she would know for sure. If she wanted to come out, she would. He wasn't going to be the one to let Jack know she was there if that wasn't what she wanted. He would leave the decision up to her.

Jack sighed, clearly not wanting to get to the point but seeing no other way around it. "I'm assuming you've heard by now." He paused. "About Kate."

Sawyer tried to act completely unaffected. From the second he'd seen Jack standing in the doorway, he'd had a vague suspicion that his reason for being here would have something to do with her, but now there was no doubt left in his mind.

"I heard she managed to give the bastards the slip again. All's I can say is, good for her."

Jack looked as if he'd expected this response. "Yeah, well...unfortunately, it's not quite that simple."

"And why's that?"

"That accident she caused? The driver of the car had internal bleeding - they didn't detect it at first. He's in a coma, and...apparently, it doesn't look good. He probably won't live."

Sawyer didn't know what to say. All he could think about was the fact that Kate was listening to this.

Jack went on. "But obviously, that's the least of her worries...considering everything else." He looked at Sawyer questioningly. "Do you even know what she did?"

"No," he said quickly. "And I ain't interested in hearin' _their _version of it, either. So don't bother to tell me." Even though his curiosity was killing him, nothing would induce him to put her through the torture of listening to her past history being narrated (probably wrongly) by somebody else.

Jack looked confused, but didn't insist. "Well, suffice it to say, it's a hell of a story." He stopped. "She's..." He gave a short, ironic laugh. "She's a complicated girl."

Sawyer was getting pissed. "So what the hell are you botherin' to tell this to _me _for? You always travel across the country to make chit-chat about past acquaintances?" Remembering the car parked in the driveway, he asked incredulously, "Did you _drive _here?"

"To be honest, I'm not really in a big hurry to get on a plane again."

"So you spent three, four days to get out here just to talk about _Kate_? No offense, doc, but don't you got better things to do?"

Did that sound natural enough? He was trying to think of the words he would have said if he _hadn't _seen her - if this visit really had come shockingly out of nowhere as he was trying to make it seem it had. Was that what he would have said?

Jack looked at him closely. "I guess I thought there was a chance you might have seen her."

"And why would you think that?" He tried to look steadily at him.

"I don't know, just...a gut feeling, I guess. I thought she might come to you for help."

Sawyer swallowed, a little unnerved that Jack would have guessed that. He must know her pretty well, after all.

"Nope. Haven't seen her. Sorry to disappoint ya." Did that sound convincing?

There was a short silence. Sawyer suddenly realized, with a slight sinking feeling in his gut, that Jack was staring down at Kate's shopping list that they'd accidentally left lying on the table. Did he know her handwriting? Surely he wouldn't have had occasion to see it _on the island_, would he?

But on closer examination, he noticed that Jack seemed to be looking _through _the list, rather than _at _it. He wasn't focusing on anything, and after a few seconds he glanced back around the kitchen. Sawyer was relieved. He tried to think of something else to say.

"How'd you find out where I live?" It was amazing to him that people kept finding him here, considering the lengths to which he went to protect his true identity.

Jack looked like he didn't want to answer. "They, uh...they had pretty detailed information on everybody who was on the island. Names, addresses, phone numbers...at least the ones who _have _phones," he said, looking pointedly at Sawyer.

But that wasn't the part of the sentence that caught his attention. "_They_? Who's _'they_?' "

Jack hesitated for a second, and then sighed. "The FBI. They're the ones leading the search for her now - it's that high-profile."

Sawyer was confused at first, but then the truth of the situation began to dawn on him. He shook his head slowly in contempt and almost smiled. "I shoulda known."

He looked at Jack directly, accusingly. "Those sons-a' bitches _sent _you here, didn't they? What are they tryin' to do, get you to flush her out for 'em?"

Jack didn't reply. He looked pained.

Sawyer went on, bitterly. "I always knew you were a team player, doc, but I gotta say, I never thought you'd stoop this low. Probably wearin' a bug right now, aren't ya?"

"No, I'm not wearing a bug!" Jack finally answered, angry. "You really think I'd do that to her?"

"Then what the hell are you here for?"

"I just wanted to talk to her," he went on, more quietly. "This running...it's just...It's not the smart thing to do, at this point. She needs to hear that from somebody who actually has her best interests in mind."

"You think she oughtta turn herself _in_?"

Jack met his eyes. "Considering what's going to happen to her if she doesn't, yeah. I do. It's really the only choice she has."

Sawyer looked at him like he was crazy.

Jack went on. "They're willing to offer her some kind of agreement. If she comes forward herself, her sentence will be much lighter - with the right lawyers, it's _conceivable _that it could be reduced by as much as half. She's only in her twenties...if she goes ahead and serves her time, then she could still have a shot at a normal life when she gets out."

Sawyer exhaled bitterly. "I've heard some stupid shit in my time, but that just about takes the cake. You _honestly _think they're gonna cut her some kinda break? After everything she's put 'em through - after makin' 'em look like jackasses by gettin' away every time? And on top of what she did originally...especially if it's as bad as you said it was? Tell me you ain't _that _much of an idiot, Jack."

"I'm not saying they'll make it easy for her, but it's still better than the alternative." He paused, looking miserable. "She's gonna end up getting killed, Sawyer. If she keeps this up, it's only a matter of time. And even if she manages to be taken alive, the best she can hope for is life without parole."

"I don't know what the hell you're tellin' _me _this for," he said sullenly. Hearing all this made him feel ill. There was some truth to the words, but it was nothing he wanted to think about right now.

Jack looked back down at the table. "I don't know. I guess it's just nice to say it to somebody else who's on _her _side, for a change." Pausing, he went on quietly. "I'm scared for her. I know that's ridiculous...I only knew her for a month. Still...the thought of what's gonna happen to her just...makes me sick." He shook his head, sadly. "She can't keep running for the rest of her life."

"Guess she plans to test that theory," Sawyer said quietly. He wished more than anything that he'd gotten Jack out of the kitchen. Kate shouldn't have to listen to this.

"I guess so." After a few seconds, Jack looked at Sawyer again, searchingly. "You really haven't heard from her at all?"

"Didn't I already answer that?" he replied, trying to sound annoyed rather than nervous.

Jack nodded, seemingly in acceptance. "Well, then I guess...this was a wasted trip. Thought it might be worth a shot, anyway." He stood up. "I'll just be on my way."

Sawyer couldn't resist asking, "What makes you think she woulda listened to your advice, even if you'd found her?"

He thought for a second. "I don't know. I guess I was just hoping she would want to do the right thing. Maybe nobody's ever bothered to try to get her to do that before." He shot Sawyer a meaningful glance at the last words, but not as if he was trying to be insulting.

Sawyer stood up too. "Ever think maybe _your _idea of what's right ain't the same as _her _idea of what's right?"

Jack didn't answer at first. He was looking into the pantry, acting distracted. "That's probably true," he said slowly, but as if he wasn't really paying attention.

Opening the screen door, he turned back to Sawyer with a strange, melancholy expression. "If by any chance you happen to see her in the future, tell her..." he paused. "Tell her I miss her. And that... I'm glad I got to know her, even if it was only for a month. I won't forget about her." He ducked his head a little, almost as if he was afraid of getting too emotional.

Sawyer was a little confused about what had brought this on, but he felt bad for the guy. It wasn't like he couldn't sympathize. It was _Kate _they were talking about, after all.

"I'll make sure to pass along the message if I come across her," he said softly. "Don't plan on it happenin', though."

"Yeah," Jack said shortly, almost smiling. "Well...just in case."

Sawyer followed him out onto the back porch and watched as he went down the steps. Jack glanced around appreciatively. "Nice place you got here."

"It's not bad."

"So..." Jack looked back up at him. "Thanks again for getting us off the island."

"You should thank Michael. I was just a passenger."

Jack nodded. "I'll see you, Sawyer."

"Yeah."

He watched as Jack disappeared around the side of the house, and continued to stand there until he heard his car start, listening to the fading crunch of the gravel as he made his way down the driveway. Finally, he went back in.

He looked into the pantry, wondering with dread what frame of mind Kate would be in after hearing all of that.

With a startled jerk, he saw that draped across the washing machine, in plain view, were the clothes she'd been wearing the day she was arrested on the island. _Jesus Christ_. He could have kicked himself.

Then...did Jack know? Was _that _what he'd been looking at? It had to be. But why hadn't he said anything? Sawyer's thoughts were a dizzying whirl of confusion.

Oddly enough, though, he wasn't all that worried. Despite his earlier accusations, he didn't really believe that Jack would rat her out or anything like that. Like he'd said, he wanted her to turn _herself _in, not get caught. Still...how could they have been so _stupid _to leave those clothes there?

He went into the room and kneeled onto the floor. Slowly, he lifted up the door of the cellar and looked down.

It was just as he'd thought. She was sitting on the floor, her head leaning forward to rest on her knees, and he could tell by the tense, almost vibrating motion of her shoulders that she was either sobbing or just on the verge of it.

For some reason, and to his complete surprise, the sight made him angry. Was it because he knew that nothing _he _could say would have the power to make her that upset?

"You want me to go after him?" he asked bitterly.

He could just barely make out a muted "No" in response.

Unable to stop himself, he went on. "Because I could probably still catch him if I drive fast enough...Just say the word, darlin', because I'm sure he'd be glad to..."

"I said NO!" she interrupted him sharply, finally raising her head.

He was horrified by the expression on her face. Not once since she'd been here had he seen her so emotionally _raw_, her pain so near the surface.

A wave of irrational anger towards Jack swept over him. _Damn him_. Things had been going so well lately. Or at least they'd been able to _pretend _thatthey had. But now _he _had to traipse in here with his moral superiority "do the right thing" bullshit and fuck everything up by making her doubt herself. He wished he could do their parting over again and send him off with a broken nose.

Standing up, she shakily climbed up the ladder. He tried to help her, but she shook him off, heading toward the screen door.

"I'm going for a walk," she said shortly.

"Like hell you are! It's the middle of the day, and it's a weekend. It's the worst possible time for you to be out there!"

"I don't care."

As she pushed open the door, he grabbed ahold of her arm.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Although he didn't really need to ask.

She froze, and in a barely audible voice said, "_Let. go. of me_."

He hesitated for a second, but there was no chance of restraining her. He could tell by the wild, distracted look on her face that she wouldn't give in. She needed to get away, to be alone for awhile. He released his grip.

Pushing the door open, she went through the backyard at a pace that was almost a run and disappeared behind the shed, probably headed toward the lake. He didn't try to follow her.

* * *

He heard her come back inside about half an hour later and head straight upstairs, firmly shutting the door of the room she'd been staying in. So apparently she wasn't in the mood for talking. Fine. He could handle that. He wouldn't have had a clue what to say, anyway. He still couldn't decide whether he should be more pissed at Jack for causing all this, or at her for letting herself be so affected by it.

The longer she remained up there, however, the more worried he grew. She hadn't made a sound all afternoon. He knew she had a tendency to brood alone when she was upset - he's seen her do it on the island, even - but this was getting ridiculous.

Finally, just when he was about to go up and demand that she snap out of it, he heard her coming downstairs. He looked up hopefully, but sighed in disappointment when he saw the look on her face. If anything, she looked more upset _now _than she had earlier. There was also a firm, unyielding set to her expression that indicated she'd made up her mind about something. He had an uneasy feeling he knew what it was.

His prediction was confirmed when she spoke.

Looking past him a little, she said almost distantly, "I'm going."

"Right _now_?"

She nodded shortly. "Yeah."

"It's not even dark yet." That was a ridiculous thing to say, he knew, but it was the first thing that popped into his head.

"It will be soon enough."

"Have you even eaten anything today?" Another idiotic thing to say.

She didn't even bother to reply this time. She just moved slowly toward the kitchen door. It was like she was in some kind of trance.

"So...just like _that_. You're off." he said bitterly.

She turned toward him again. "Who are we kidding, Sawyer? I can't stay here any more."

"Funny...you didn't seem to think that before Saint Jack stopped by this mornin' with his little holier-than-thou spiel."

She closed her eyes briefly at the mention of the visit. They hadn't really said anything about it yet. "Yes I did. And you know it. I was planning to go today anyway, remember?"

That was true, but neither one of them had really believed she would. The fact that she'd been prepared to add to the shopping list was evidence of that.

"Yeah, well that was before you got this upset...you look like you been through a damn _air raid_! You're not thinkin' straight - you go out there like this, you'll be behind bars by morning!"

With a strange, faraway expression on her face, she said softly, "You know what's funny? I don't even really care anymore."

He exploded. "Don't even think about givin' me that 'I don't care anymore' bit, sweetheart! I've seen the way you look every time there's been even the faintest _possibility _of gettin' caught this last week or so. It scares the hell outta you, whether you try to hide it or not! You really gonna let him do this to you? Make you think that since you don't have a chance, you might as well just give up? Because that's _bullshit_, Kate, and you know it! You made it this far, didn't you?"

She finally looked directly at him. Still speaking in a restrained, eerily calm voice, she said, "The only reason you're this pissed off, Sawyer, is because you know he's right. It doesn't really matter what I do. By staying here, I'm just putting you in danger too...and I won't do that anymore. It isn't fair."

"Would you listen to yourself! You're gonna wake up in a cell tomorrow and wish somebody'd beat some sense into you while there was still time. But by then it'll be too late, won't it?"

"Maybe so. But at least then I won't have to worry about it anymore. In a way, it'll be almost a _relief_."

"You've really lost it, haven't you?" he said in wonder. "Hell, I knew you had a _thing _for the doc, Freckles, but I didn't know he had mind-control powers - what's he got, some kind of voodoo doll that looks like you? He locks it in a box and suddenly you feel the overpowering need to go throw your life away?"

She sighed deeply. She knew he was just stalling with every tactic he could think of, no matter how absurd. But it was no use this time. As unstable as she felt, her mind was made up.

"This has nothing to do with Jack. All he did was remind me of what I already knew." She pushed open the door, sadly.

"Goodbye, Sawyer," she almost whispered. "Thank you...for everything."

He looked at her miserably. "If you leave here now...don't expect to come back. I don't run no boarding house. Invitation expires the second you walk out that door."

Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, and he felt like somebody'd stabbed him in the heart. She stared at him for a few drawn-out seconds, and he prayed to God that she was reconsidering.

Finally, she nodded once, painfully. "I understand."

Closing the screen door softly behind her, she went down the same steps she'd run down earlier, only this time she turned in the other direction - around toward the driveway.

He stepped over to the door. "Kate!"

She didn't turn or give any indication of hearing him. Within a few seconds, she was out of sight.

His rage and frustration overwhelming him, he turned back into the room and blindly, without even knowing what he did, overturned the kitchen table and sent it flying across the room.

Hearing the crash from the driveway, Kate paused briefly and closed her eyes. Then, taking a deep breath and trying to hold back her tears, she continued toward the road.


	12. Chapter 12

I can't even believe how kind you guys have been in your reviews - it makes me want to write constantly, which is kind of dangerous considering that I'm neglecting everything else:) But that's okay, I'm usually pretty responsible, so I don't feel too bad about throwing everything to the wind in order to write Skate. It's just such a bizarre comfort to know that my daydreams are made tangible so that other people can experience them! Which I guess is all that fiction is, but somehow I never thought of it that way before. Anyway, enough rambling... Lol.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

He couldn't stop watching the clock. It didn't make any sense, really, but for some reason it was incredibly important for him to know exactly how long she'd been gone. He was trying to mentally track her progress, to judge how far away she would be by now. Not that that was really possible, because he didn't even know which direction she'd gone. She could have gotten a ride by now, or she could still be on foot. She could have stopped to hide somewhere, or she could have decided to keep moving. He really had no clue. But he couldn't get his mind off of it.

He paced back and forth from room to room, then, when the house couldn't contain him anymore, he went outside to the porch and walked around the house a few times. He'd never felt so tormented over anything. And the worst part was, he couldn't even drown himself in alcohol the way he normally would have when faced with a problem he didn't know how to handle. Or rather, he _could _have, but the very thought was repugnant to him. He was determined to keep a clear head, at least until he'd calmed down a little.

This entire situation was ridiculous. To begin with, it was ridiculous that she'd ever come here in the first place. Then, it was even _more _ridiculous that he'd actually gotten to a point where he wanted her to stay. But the most patently ludicrous aspect of all was the torn-apart, beaten-to-a-pulp feeling he had now that she'd finally gone.

What the hell was the matter with him? She was out of his hair now, she'd left him in peace - he could get on with his normal life and bid good riddance to all the danger and annoyances she'd brought with her. For the first time since he'd set foot on that plane to Australia, he could make some effort at fitting back into his old routine of life. He could plan out his next scam, reunite with his partners-in-crime, and resume his series of meaningless affairs and one-night stands. So why in God's name did that prospect fill him with more dread and loathing than anything he'd ever contemplated?

For the first time he realized that he was going to wake up in the house in the morning, and she would be gone. He would come downstairs, and there would be no one there. Nobody would force him to drink fresh coffee or rearrange his furniture or complain about the shit that was broken. Nobody would wheedle him into playing board games. If he got into another bar fight, nobody would try to fetch peroxide for him.

_So...what was so strange about all that_? That was the way it had always been. He was thirty-five years old; shouldn't he be used to it by now? If it wasn't the way he preferred things, then why had he kept it up for so long?

But that was the selfish way of looking at the situation, and even through the haze of his anger at Kate, he realized that. None of that was what was _really _bothering him. What was really bothering him was wondering where _she _was going to be when she woke up tomorrow. If she even got a chance to sleep, which was unlikely. Would she be spotted and taken into custody tonight? Would she try to hide under an overpass or in some abandoned car somewhere? Would she (and this was the thought that horrified him most of all) accept the "help" of a lonely trucker or some random horny bastard who picked her up on the road?

She had no way to protect herself, no weapons of any kind at all. He knew she could fight, but he also knew she probably didn't weigh more than 120 pounds, if that. It would be easy for someone to overpower her, as long as they knew what they were doing.

Not only did she have no weapon, but she had no money. Not a cent, as far as he knew. She'd walked out the door carrying absolutely nothing at all.

And, as if it couldn't get any worse, she was wearing the goddamn _dress_. As if _that _wouldn't make her conspicuous, he thought with contempt. She looked like either an escaped mental patient or a cast member from a college production of _Guys and Dolls_. What the hell had she been _thinking_!

The more he went over it in his mind, the angrier he got - not just at her, but at himself for letting her go. She'd obviously been distraught and not thinking clearly...but what should he have _done_? Locked her up? Yeah, because _that _would have gone over well. He almost laughed thinking about it.

He went back inside and looked at the clock again. Two and a half hours. She'd been gone for _two and a half hours_. It was completely dark now. Every time he looked at the time, he felt a surge of impatience. For what, he didn't know, because it wasn't like he was expecting anything to happen. He'd told her not to bother coming back, and even though she probably knew he didn't mean it, he also knew that she wouldn't return. Not just from stubbornness and a desire to make him eat his words (although that was part of it), but also because she'd meant it when she said she didn't want him to be in danger anymore.

He felt like he was losing his mind. Every second she was getting further away, closer to some unknown peril or catastrophe. How could he just let that happen? It was his fault she'd walked out the door without anything - he could at least have given her _money_, he thought, feeling a flood of rage directed toward himself. _Why hadn't he thought of that before_? She probably would have accepted that much, even though she never would have asked for it herself. Was he really that stupid?

Then that was a good enough reason to look for her, right? It wasn't like he'd really be going _after her_, in that sense. He could just...tell her that she'd been an idiot and force her to take the money. And then...well, if she'd calmed down at all or started thinking rationally again, then maybe, just _maybe_...she would reconsider...

But no, he wouldn't think of that. Because in all likelihood, it wouldn't happen. He knew her well enough to know that she was a loner by nature, the same as him. When she'd made up her mind to be on her own, there wouldn't be much that would convince her otherwise.

Still, it was worth a shot. He would have to swallow his pride a little, since he'd pretty much just told her that he didn't want to see her again. But in this case, he could handle the sacrifice. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he didn't at least make the effort to help her out a little. And if she was determined to be on the road, then money would be one of the most important staples she could have.

Rushing up to his bedroom with the overwhelming feeling that every second wasted could mean life or death for her, he flipped on the light and hastily pulled out the drawer next to his bed where he'd been keeping his money. He'd withdrawn a few thousand bucks from the bank last week, since Kate had proven to be more of an expense than he'd bargained for. He preferred to have cash on hand, since, like most men, he hated writing checks.

As he slid the drawer open, the thought briefly flashed through his mind that maybe she'd already been here - maybe she'd foreseen her need and cleaned him out? What would he do, then? Go after her and demand the money _back_? Seemed a little beside the point.

But no...thank God. It was all here. She hadn't been in any state of mind to anticipate expenses - unfortunately, she'd been telling the truth when she said she didn't care what happened to her.

Hurrying back downstairs and grabbing the car keys, it occurred to him that he didn't know where she'd gone. Somehow, that obvious thought hadn't crossed his mind once since he'd decided to go after her. If she'd accepted a ride from someone just after she'd left, then she could be out of the state by now. It was entirely possible that he would never see her again, no matter how hard he searched. The realization was like somebody shooting a cannonball into his rib cage.

But he couldn't waste time thinking about it now. The only chance he had was to start looking immediately and hope for the best. And he had a vague, undefined suspicion about where she might have gone. There was a fairly low-key, old-fashioned truck stop just off the interstate, about seven miles from here. If she'd decided to walk, she'd be there by now. It was a long shot, but if that was how she was used to traveling, it couldn't hurt to try. Old habits died hard, he knew. Whether it was safe or not, she would gravitate to what she was accustomed to.

Getting into the car, he put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened.

He tried again. Not a sound.

_What the fuck_? This couldn't really be happening, could it! The car had been running fine yesterday - the gas tank was full, and the oil had just been changed.

He kept turning the key, but there was absolutely no indication of it starting. Enraged and feeling panicked, he popped the hood and looked under it. He was so distracted that he couldn't really focus, and he didn't have much idea of what to look for, anyway. He was a terrible mechanic - the still broken-down truck was evidence of that. Besides, even if he knew what the problem was, what chance did he have of getting it fixed tonight?

Closing the hood again with a deafening bang, he kicked the side of the car, furious. _Now what_? His nearest neighbor was a good half a mile away, and he hated the guy...he would never ask him for help. He didn't have a phone, so he couldn't call a cab - not that he could have _anyway_, he realized. What would he say? "Could you just drive around real slow while I look for this girl who ran away from my house? She's a fugitive and I'd kinda like to give her some getaway money." Despite his anger, he gave a short snort of laughter.

He stood there, feeling miserable and hopeless and so frustrated that he was dangerously close to _tears_. How could everything have gotten so fucked up? What was this, a sign? Should he just let it go, forget about her? Maybe this was his last chance to escape from the wake of destruction she carried in her path. But hell, he had his _own _wake of destruction...How much harm could hers possibly do him?

There was one more option, but he didn't have any hope at all for it. It was a last-ditch shot, the kind of ridiculous thing you might try when you're so out of choices that nothing seems too absurd, like emptying a glass of water on a fire that's already spread throughout several rooms of your house.

With his heart and head both pounding simultaneously in a steady, forceful rhythm, he went into the darkened shed and felt around until he located the driver's side door of his truck. Luckily, it was unlocked, although he knew deep down that it probably wouldn't make much difference. It wasn't getting _into it _that was the problem.

He located the right key on the key ring - he could tell which one it was because it was the one he never used. He hadn't tried to start the damn thing in probably six months. Putting the key in the ignition, he felt a bizarre urge to utter a prayer, but he didn't really believe in anything and there wasn't time for that anyway. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned the key.

A straining, choking sound...but not one devoid of hope.

"_Come on...come on, you piece of shit.._," he muttered, turning the key again. The same sound, only this time with some promising thuds mixed in.

One more time. Giving it a few seconds to rest, he turned the key again, keeping it in place as the choking, thudding sound finally grew to a roar and the engine revved into life.

Laughing maniacally, he cried out, "I always knew you had it in ya, you old whore!"

Hardly bothering to clear the shed doors, he backed it out quickly and then sped down the driveway, spraying up gravel behind him.

* * *

When he got to the truck stop, he wasn't really sure what to do. He couldn't see any sign of her from the parking lot. She wouldn't have gone inside, would she? Just to be sure, he entered the building, even going so far as to quickly check the women's bathroom. Luckily, it was empty, although on his way out an old lady near the coffee station gave him a suspicious glare.

Not a trace of her anywhere.

He went back outside, feeling more hopeless by the second but trying to think of any remaining possibilities. He decided to walk around the building. If there was nothing there, then maybe another idea would come to him.

Coming around the front edge near the newspaper bins, he had a startled moment of dread when he noticed a squad car parked over to the side. It wasn't just local cops - it was the state police. What the hell were they doing here?

Trying to be inconspicuous, he pretended to dig through his pocket for change, presumably to buy a newspaper. Glancing sideways at the troopers, he noticed that they seemed to be speaking fairly casually, standing over near the driver's side. From what he could see, there was nobody in the car. He relaxed a little. Probably nothing.

But that still didn't ease his original worries. If Kate wasn't here, then where the hell was she? Sticking to his plan, he started to walk around the back of the building, not really expecting much but determined to cover all the bases. Nothing on the side where the police were talking. Nothing in the back. He circled around to the third and last side of the building.

On the back corner was a deep, shadowy recess where the wall of the truck stop abutted the wooden structure that housed the dumpsters. It was narrow, and almost completely dark, but he thought he could make out a figure standing far back in it. Almost holding his breath, he took a few steps closer to the opening from the parking lot where he'd been walking. The figure moved a little nearer into the pale, sickening glow of the halogen lamps.

It was her.

Letting his breath out and fighting the overpowering urge to collapse on the spot, he watched her for a second. She hadn't seen him yet. She was just standing there, looking cornered and nervous and alert and exhausted all at the same time. He'd never actually _seen _her on the run before, he'd just pictured it. And seeing it was a hell of a lot worse than picturing it.

Suddenly, she noticed him. Their eyes met, and they stared at each other across the distance that was separating them. She didn't look angry to see him there, or relieved, or even surprised. She just looked at him.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching him, he moved into the narrow alcove and stopped right in front of her. Now if anybody happened to look back here, they probably wouldn't be able to see her behind him. It was a small space.

They continued to stand there without speaking for a few seconds.

Finally, Kate asked in a weary voice, "What are you doing here, Sawyer?"

"Brought you some money."

Was that a trace of disappointment he saw in her face? Or was he just imagining it?

"I can't take your money."

He laughed slightly in contempt. "No offense, kiddo, but you might want to save your ethical standards for more important things. Like, say, not causin' any more car accidents?"

He could see that the words hurt her, and he regretted them almost immediately, but her stubbornness annoyed the hell out of him.

"You don't stand a chance without any money," he said, more softly. "What exactly were your plans, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"My _plans_?" she asked, almost as if she thought the question was funny. "I don't have any _plans_."

"I didn't think so." Grabbing her hand, he placed the cash in her palm and then closed her fingers around it. "There's about two thousand there." Reluctantly, he let go of her hand.

"Sawyer," she said quietly, looking down at it. "That's too much."

"Like hell it is. It'll barely get you through a month, if this is how you're plannin' to live."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you," she almost whispered.

After a short pause, he decided to try one more time. "You don't have to do this, you know. I can help you...You could be a hell of a lot safer than this. I got more money than I can possibly use...I can get you a fake ID, bank account...I'll get you down to Mexico or somethin'. I'll drive you myself if I have to."

She looked like she was trying not to cry. "I can't."

"Why not!"

"I just can't."

"Look, I know you got some pathological need to refuse people's help, but this is insane! You can't do this on your own. By the time you figure that out, there may not be anybody there offerin' to help."

"Please...just go," she said firmly.

"Fine," he said angrily, giving up. "You want to do it the hard way, then go right ahead."

He looked at her intensely for a few more seconds, knowing that this was probably the last time he'd ever see her. Before he turned to leave, he remembered to warn her. "There's state police over on the other side of the building."

"Why do you think I'm back here?"

"Yeah," he said, wearily. "Well, good luck. You're gonna need it, Freckles."

He walked slowly back up the narrow alley-like space, aware that once he turned and went around the side of the building, it was all over. Every step took him irrevocably further away from her.

She watched him go, a tortured expression on her face. This moment was worse than anything imaginable.

Just as he reached the opening and paused, preparing to head back to the front, he heard her call out behind him, almost as if she couldn't prevent herself.

"Sawyer!"

He turned, not really having a clue what to expect. What she did was something he never could have predicted in a million years.

Walking toward him slowly and looking as if she was barely holding it together, she put her head on his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his midsection (the way a child would hug, he thought briefly), and leaned against him.

Surprised, he remained frozen for a few seconds, and then slowly, awkwardly raised his arms and put them around her, lightly at first and then increasingly tighter. Bending his head down to her shoulder, he breathed in the smell of her hair.

What the hell was this, _a goodbye hug_? Well, since he hadn't gotten one on the island, maybe it was better late than never. Still...he almost wished she'd checked the impulse. It was going to make it that much harder to forget about her.

She apparently meant business when she hugged. How long was this going to go on? He had no desire to end it, so he just stood there, keeping his arms around her, waiting until she decided to let go. He could tell by the way she leaned into him how tired she was - not just tired in a physical sense, but much, much more than that. She acted like this was the first time she'd ever done this in her life.

Finally, after at least an entire minute had passed, she pulled back a little. He prepared for another goodbye. In fact, it was almost on his lips to say it first just to get it over with, when she spoke in a quiet, surrendering tone of voice.

"Take me home."

He looked at her, at first not trusting his ears. But her expression confirmed his hopes. In the past few minutes, a change had taken place in her. She'd relinquished something - he wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it was clear that it had happened. Just as he'd had to swallow his pride to come here after her, she'd made some kind of concession as well.

"You sure about that?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He almost smiled at her. "Okay." He paused. "Let me go pull the truck around to this side."

"You got your truck running?"

"Yep."

"What was wrong with it?"

"You really wanna have that conversation right here?"

She finally smiled. "No."

He looked at her again, not even wanting to leave her for the few minutes it would take to drive back around. "Don't move."

And then, in a wave of relief at the way things had turned out, he looked her over and said sarcastically, "I can't believe you wore that stupid dress."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Just go get the truck, Sawyer."


	13. Chapter 13

I find it very ironic that this is "unlucky" Chapter 13. I swear I didn't plan it this way... ;)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

When Sawyer pulled the truck around and stopped in front of the alley, he couldn't see her at first. He had a few brief seconds of fear, thinking she might have changed her mind again and taken off, but then she stepped back out into the light, and he felt silly for jumping to such dire conclusions. It was just that she'd been so unstable and off-kilter all day - there was no telling what she might take it into her head to do next.

Leaving the truck running, he got out and went over to the passenger side, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching and then gesturing to her. She walked quickly out to the opening with her head down and climbed up into the seat. He slammed the door after her and hurried around to the other side. After he got in and shut his door, he looked over at her. She was staring straight ahead, not really focused on anything in particular, seemingly exhausted.

"Gotta pass by the cops over there to get back out to the road."

With an effort, she turned to look at him.

He went on. "Might wanna crouch down so they can't see you."

She seemed to agree with him, and without saying anything, she leaned over to the left, flattening her upper body to the seat as much as she could. The cab of the truck wasn't big, and this placed her head almost in Sawyer's lap. He grinned, unable to help himself. He'd been in this predicament with women plenty of times before, but it certainly wasn't because they were hiding from the cops.

She finally spoke in a wry voice. "I know what you're thinking." And then, as an afterthought. "Pervert."

"Well, I guess you must be thinkin' it too then, so what does that make you?"

"Drive," she commanded.

"Yes, _ma'am_," he said, trying to compose his face. They weren't out of the woods yet. It'd probably be best if the police didn't see him laughing alone in his truck - they'd think he was on something.

Backing up and turning around, he drove slowly and (he hoped) inconspicuously out toward the exit. The state troopers were still standing there chatting - apparently they had nothing better to do. He tensed up as he went by them, knowing they couldn't see Kate but feeling nervous anyway. He'd been in enough trouble with the law for the sight of cops to make him wary in his own right, but now the burden was doubled. He had to be on guard for himself _and _for her at the same time.

He came to a complete stop at the entrance to the road and used his turn signal, trying not to forget any little details that might attract the troopers' attention. Finally, he turned right and drove off, gradually picking up speed. Within a few seconds, the truck stop was no longer visible in the rearview mirror.

"All right," he said, relieved. "Coast is clear."

She sat back up and peered through the rear window, needing to check for herself.

Satisfied, she turned back around and watched Sawyer as he drove. The country road was completely dark, and his face was just barely illuminated by the dash lights. He looked...different, somehow. She contemplated him quietly, a thoughtful expression on her face.

He glanced at her, and then looked back at the road.

"How'd you know where to find me?" she finally asked, softly.

"Lucky guess," he said, repeating her words from the night of his bar fight. "I guess I'm not the only one who's _predictable_."

"Guess not," she said with a sad smile. She still seemed withdrawn and emotionally drained.

After a few seconds she whispered, in a tone so low he could barely hear her, "Thanks."

"Yeah," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the road. He didn't really know what else to say.

They rode in silence the rest of the way home.

* * *

After he parked the truck in the yard, they went in through the kitchen door. The overhead light was off, but the small light over the sink provided a dim, somber glow. 

Kate halted in her tracks and stared wordlessly at the overturned kitchen table over on the wrong side of the room. She looked at Sawyer and raised her eyebrows slightly.

"What the hell happened here?" he asked, making a lame effort to sound surprised.

She smiled grimly. "Nice try."

Going over to the sink area, she pulled herself nimbly up onto the countertop and balanced on her knees, opening the cabinet above the refrigerator.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Sawyer asked.

"Getting a drink," she replied, taking down the bottle of whiskey. She turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. "Don't you want one?"

"Matter of fact, I do," he had to admit. He couldn't resist adding a question, though. "How'd you happen to know that was up there?"

"Because," she said, as if it were obvious. "I like to snoop around."

"I believe _that_," he said with a smile.

Opening another cabinet just behind her, she took out two shot glasses that Sawyer hadn't known he even owned. It was a good thing _somebody _was snooping around, he thought, because otherwise some of this stuff would probably never be found.

Staying seated on the countertop, with her legs dangling over the edge, she poured out the shots. He came and stood across from her, taking the shot glass she held out to him.

"Cheers," she said perfunctorily, raising her glass into the air. They both downed the whiskey, and she reached for the bottle to pour more.

Sawyer leaned against the counter that ran diagonal to the one she was sitting on, a few feet away from her. He watched her closely. There was a dangerous edge to her expression. She was too closed-off, trying to bury all the emotional detritus that had accrued over the course of this miserable day. If she was going to clam up and shut down again, then they would end up right back in the same place they'd started.

Trying to draw her out of it, he asked playfully, "So...you just plannin' to keep my money?"

Looking amused, she set the shot glass on the counter and reached down the front of her dress, extracting the folded cash from where she'd hidden it in her bra. She held it out to him, and he reached over to take it. It was warm from the contact with her skin, and even when he stuck it in his pocket, he could feel the heat against his leg.

She took another drink, this time sipping from the shot glass instead of swallowing it all at once. She looked at him thoughtfully. "Were you serious about driving me down to Mexico?"

"Course I was serious," he replied, strangely disappointed. "When do you want to go?"

She considered for a second, but then sighed. "Let's talk about it tomorrow. I'm not really in a planning mood tonight."

She paused.

Looking away, she asked quietly, "Jack knows I'm here, doesn't he?"

Sawyer was a little surprised. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. I could just tell. Something about the way he sounded when he gave you that message...when he said he missed me," she finished in a low, almost shy voice.

He watched her, hating that faraway, puppy-love look she got on her face when she talked about Jack. As usual, it triggered an immediate instinct to say something hurtful.

"I guess maybe you oughtta be more careful about leavin' your dirty laundry layin' around on the washer in plain sight, then. 'Cause no offense, sweetheart, but I don't think anyone's gonna buy that those are _my _clothes."

She looked toward the pantry in confusion, even though the lights were dim and nothing was visible. Slowly, realizing what she'd done, she laughed bitterly.

"It'll be something simple like that that'll get me in the end...you wait and see. Some stupid little thing. I try so hard to be careful...to remember all the details." She shook her head, angry at herself. "You'd think I'd be better at this by now."

He felt bad for bringing it up. It was just as much his fault as it was hers. "Yeah, well..." he said. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. He won't say nothin'."

"You don't think?" She looked at him in wonder. She truly didn't believe Jack would say anything either, but she was surprised to hear Sawyer say so.

"Nah," he replied, not wanting to get into it.

"I thought you hated Jack," she couldn't help prodding.

"Never said I hated him," he answered, annoyed. "But even if I did, it doesn't change the fact that he's not gonna put you in danger. You heard him, didn't you? The jackass wants you to do it yourself."

"Yeah," she said, sighing. She looked at him again, getting ready to speak, but he stopped her.

"And don't ask me again if I think he's right, because you already know what I'm gonna say."

She closed her mouth again, almost smiling. But it was a sad, distant smile. "What makes you think I don't deserve it?" she asked, curiously. "I mean, you don't even know what I did. How do you know I don't belong there?"

"Let me ask you somethin'." He looked at her intently. "If you turn yourself in to let them punish you...if they lock you up...Is it ever gonna change what you did? Is it possible that you'll feel any worse than you already do? That those bastards can do the job any better than you do yourself?"

He saw something in her respond, way down deep in her eyes. She tore her gaze away reluctantly. "No," she said in a hoarse voice.

"Then there's your answer," he almost whispered.

Kate gave up on sipping the whiskey. She finished off the shot glass and poured another.

They were quiet for a few minutes.

Instead of brightening her mood, the alcohol seemed to be having the opposite effect, bringing her pain to the surface. It was like watching water simmer - any second now it would reach the boiling point. He didn't want another scene like the one earlier. It was probably irrational, but he couldn't entirely deny the fear that she might try to leave again. If that happened, he was determined that he would make the effort to lock her up, no matter how much it pissed her off. He'd be damned if he was going to go through that again.

When she started to shakily pour another shot, he reached over and firmly took the bottle from her. "Think that's about enough for tonight, darlin.'"

She sighed heavily, but didn't argue.

He watched her where she was still sitting on the countertop, slouched against the refrigerator on one side. She was staring at the upside-down kitchen table on the far side of the room, but it was obvious she wasn't really seeing it.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she asked, "Do you ever think about ending it?"

"What?" he replied, blankly.

"You know what I mean," she said, still not looking at him. "Just...getting it over with, once and for all." She paused. "Being able to rest."

The words unnerved him, as well as the hollow tone of her voice. "You wanna talk about killin' yourself, I don't think you really need all the cute little euphemisms, do ya?"

"Fine," she said sharply, turning to look him in the eyes. "Do you ever think about killing yourself, Sawyer?" She enunciated each word clearly, forcefully.

He swallowed, not wanting to tell her the truth. "There isn't anybody that don't think about it, one point or another."

She looked as if she thought the answer was funny somehow. "Maybe so. But I bet they don't have the same kind of reasons we do."

He had no desire to have this conversation right now. Hell, he had no desire to have this conversation, _ever_. Especially with someone who knew him so well. Vaguely, he muttered, "Everybody's got problems."

She rolled her eyes derisively. "Okay, Dr. Phil."

Irritated, he asked, "All right then, if you think it's such a good idea, then why haven't you done it yet? What's stoppin' you?"

Now it was her turn to be disturbed. She looked down at the floor and answered softly, "I don't know. I'm just a coward, I guess."

He shook his head and almost smiled. "You may be a lotta things, Freckles...but a coward ain't one of 'em."

"You'd be surprised," she said.

He waited a second, and then asked, "Ever think that maybe the cowards are the ones who _do _go through with it?"

She actually appeared to consider this, as if it was a new idea. She didn't respond, however. Instead, she started in from a new angle, and he could tell by the barely controlled shaking of her voice that it was something that wasn't easy for her to say.

"You know what I think?" she began, faintly. "I think...that there are certain people..." With this she looked over at him and waveringly latched onto his gaze, almost like a safety line. "Certain people...who get...split in two, somehow. Not like multiple personalities or anything, that's not what I mean. Just...one part of them goes one way, and the other part stays put."

He was unsettled, but determined not to interrupt her. She went on.

"Like, the person might start out...being decent and good and _normal_. And that's their natural self...that's the way they're _supposed _to be. But then, something happens. And the person has to do something terrible." Her voice shook a little more. "And then, things keep getting worse, and the part that does the terrible things just keeps branching off...and it gets farther and farther away from the good part. And the good part of the person - the _natural _part - just sits there and watches it all, horrified. But there's nothing it can do. Because it's too weak."

Now it wasn't just her voice that was shaking. He moved over nearer to her, standing right in front of her, wanting her to stop but strangely fascinated by her words, by the sense of recognition they gave him.

She continued. "So, pretty soon, the natural part of the person...the part that's been there from the beginning...has to share a body with the other part, the terrible part. And they both hate each other, and they both know that they'll have to share that space until the very last breath, no matter what. Because neither one of them's going anywhere, _ever_." One tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away, angrily.

"Kate," he said warningly, leaning his hands on the countertop on either side of her. With her seated there, they were the exact same height.

"And the only thing the two parts have in common," she whispered, "is that they're both scared to death. _Every. single. second_."

Their faces were only a few inches away from each other now, and when he leaned in to her, she didn't make any effort to pull back.

At first they kissed for comfort, softly, burning off the pain and misery of the day. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he smoothed the hair back from her temples. Gradually, though, the pressure and intensity of the kiss began to increase as physical need started to compete with emotional need. Their tongues met, and Kate's head banged against the cabinet behind her, although she barely noticed. Sawyer's hands moved down to her waist and stomach, feeling how warm her skin was through the thin fabric of the dress. For the first time, he was grateful that she'd decided to wear the thing.

When he broke the kiss to move to her neck and the skin at the top of her chest that remained uncovered by the dress, she had time to quickly consider whether she should try to stop this, but immediately gave up the idea. She didn't have that much willpower. In a way, this situation had been inevitable since the moment she'd called his name at the truck stop. She'd already made the decision; she just hadn't realized it. Right now, she wanted nothing more in the world than for this to continue. Wrapping her legs around his midsection, she leaned over to whisper into his ear, "Let's go upstairs."

He pulled back to look at her, briefly, wanting confirmation. The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. Short of a tornado ripping the house apart, nothing was going to get in their way this time. He kissed her again softly, almost gratefully, at the same time lifting her up off of the countertop. She locked her arms around his neck and he carried her upstairs, not once breaking the kiss. She pretended not to notice that he stumbled and knocked her against the bedroom doorjamb.

Laying her down gently on the bed in the darkened room, he continued to kiss her as she worked at pulling his shirt off. He made an attempt at the dress, but gave up in frustration. "How do you get this damn thing off?" he whispered impatiently. Laughing, she said, "I'll do it." To save time, he got rid of his own pants.

Wishing there was more light to see her by, but content for now with just the feel of her, he trailed kisses down her entire body, neglecting nothing, until she was gasping for breath and unwilling to wait any longer. They'd waited long enough already.

He wanted to go slow and hold himself back, the way he always did. He was an expert at teasing women...he could make one time last for hours. But it didn't seem that things were going to go his way tonight. This was _Kate_. He'd never felt so much passion for anybody before. Compared to this, none of those other times had meant anything.

Still, he tried to keep a leisurely, unhurried rhythm. It was no use, though...the frantic way she was moving under him completely undermined his efforts. He gave up. They could always take their time later. They had all night. He would make it up to her. But this had been building for too long to stretch it out any more.

When she arched her back underneath him and cried out, he felt all the muscles in her body tense and then shudderingly relax, and he quickly followed her over the edge. Collapsing onto her, he felt the gradually slowing puffs of her breath against his ear and the pounding of her heart underneath his own. He started to roll over to the side, thinking that he was too heavy for her, but she immediately locked her arms back around him and held him there.

He started kissing her neck again, moving back up to her face, telling himself in almost naive wonderment that this was really Kate in bed with him. He couldn't wrap his mind around it somehow - maybe because it was something he'd wanted for so long that he'd given up on it ever happening. Startled, he noticed that her cheeks were wet...She was crying. Had he done something wrong? It was too dark to see the expression on her face, so he whispered, "What's 'a matter?"

"Nothing," she said. And for the first time, he heard a tone in her voice that he'd never heard there before. She sounded almost... _peaceful_.

"You sure?" he asked, still confused.

"Yeah," she replied, and he could tell that she was smiling. "You know what?" she went on. "I think maybe we should have done this a long time ago."

He sighed in mock-exasperation. "What the hell have I been tryin' to tell you all this time?"

She laughed, and he covered her entire face with kisses, ravenously.

* * *

When they finally succumbed to sleep - Kate with her head on his chest, Sawyer with his hand still tangled in her hair - the pale light of early dawn was just beginning to illuminate the room.


	14. Chapter 14

To answer those of you who are wondering if that was the last chapter - Nope, not even close. It's just getting started. :) What originally was planned to be about 20 chapters now looks like it could stretch into 40-50. I know, I'm insane. But it's something to get me through the summer...

This is a **VERY VERY SHORT **chapter, just to warn you. I wanted the "morning after" scene to be its own chapter for more impact. I'll update soon with the rest of their day in a separate chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

When Kate opened her eyes, she wasn't sure at first where she was. But the experience of waking up in a strange environment wasn't new to her - unfortunately, it happened much too often. She'd learned by now that if she remained still and cleared her mind, the events of the previous day that had placed her here would gradually come back to her. Within a few seconds, she recalled where she was - Sawyer's bedroom - and an instant after that, she recalled _why _she was there. The realization brought a faint flush to her cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.

But where was he? She'd opened her eyes facing his side of the bed, and he wasn't in it. She was disappointed, but it was just like him not to want to have to deal with any "morning cuddling." Although she had to be honest with herself; it wasn't really something that she was accustomed to either. It would have been nice to give it a _try_, though, she thought, a little annoyed.

Was he afraid she would get clingy and needy? He knew her better than that, didn't he? Maybe he was trying to let her know, in his own way, that it had just been a one-night thing. Of course that's what he thought it was, she realized. He'd never had anything else before, why would she expect him to change now? Probably he woke up and got out of the room as quickly as he could, grateful that she was still asleep.

Fine, then, she thought, trying not to feel hurt. He'd been doing his best to seduce her for quite awhile now (and it wasn't like she'd never entertained the thought herself), so maybe one perfect night was all they were supposed to have. But it hadn't felt like that at the time... In fact, she'd never felt so safe or peaceful in her life. But if it didn't mean the same thing to him, then she would just have to deal with that. It was _Sawyer_, after all. She wouldn't make the mistake of expecting too much from him.

Then she rolled over and noticed for the first time the overflowing vase of wildflowers that had been left on the nightstand next to her pillow.

* * *

Sawyer sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and pretending to flip through a two-year-old car magazine that he had absolutely no interest in at all. It was past one in the afternoon, but she still wasn't up. They hadn't fallen asleep until close to six a.m., so that wasn't unusual, but he was starting to feel antsy. He'd awakened almost an hour ago, and had lain there and watched her. After that, there was no chance of getting back to sleep.

Although he tried not to put it to himself in absolute terms, he was anxious to see where things stood after last night. Either it had been a one-night thing, or it hadn't. Only she could decide that. And he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew what she was going to decide. After all, hadn't she talked about Mexico just before they went upstairs? They were supposed to plan the trip today. Probably their night together was just a distraction, a pleasing diversion, but not anything important enough to get in her way.

But he hadn't really been expecting anything more, had he? He knew what she was like - she was constantly on the run. No matter what happened between them, he doubted that he would qualify as something worth sticking around for. Hell, she probably wouldn't even _mention _last night, he thought...it would be just like her to gloss over it as if it had never happened. Well, fine, if that's the way she wanted it, he would play along. He wasn't going to follow her around like a damn puppy dog.

Still, though...there was always the chance that she would want something more. The way she acted this morning would decide everything. Within a few minutes of seeing her, he should be able to tell whether it had been a one-time deal, or whether it had been...something else. He glanced impatiently at the clock again.

Suddenly, he heard her descending the stairs. She sounded like she was walking much slower than usual, without her driven, restless stride. Was that a good sign, or a bad sign?

He pretended to look back at the magazine as she appeared in the kitchen doorway. Glancing up as if he'd just noticed her, he felt a funny, sharp little pain at the sight of how beautiful she was, even in the plaid bathrobe and with her hair tangled and almost straightened, the curl pulled out of it (which was mostly his fault, he thought proudly.) She stopped there, looking at him, and it was hard to read the expression on her face.

"Mornin'," he said, trying to sound casual.

She watched him for a second, as if she was trying to read him too. They were normally both so good at this - why wasn't it working this time?

"I see you put the table back," she said with a small smile.

"Yeah. On second thought, I decided it looked better over here." Christ, what were they _talking _about?

There was an awkward silence. She crossed her arms in front of her and looked down at the floor briefly. He tried to think of something to say, but for once in his life he was completely at a loss.

Finally, she glanced over at the counter, not meeting his eyes. "Is the coffee fresh?"

"Been on about an hour."

"Good enough," she said matter-of-factly, starting over towards it.

As she walked behind him, he felt a surge of disappointment. So that was the way it was going to be, then. He was pissed at himself for even imagining it could be otherwise, and also for _wanting _it to be otherwise. If she was going to be with somebody who actually meant something to her, then she sure as hell wouldn't pick _him_, he thought bitterly. She'd pick...

His thoughts were interrupted in mid-stream as a shadow fell across the table. He felt her loosened hair cascading down his arm, and as he turned his head questioningly, she caught him in a kiss so powerful that it bent his neck back over the top of the chair. Slowly, he raised his hands to the sides of her face.

Finally breaking away from him, she smiled again, more genuinely this time. "Let's try this again, okay? Good morning."

He smiled back at her, so relieved he almost couldn't form words. "Mornin', Freckles."

Still leaning over him, she said almost shyly, "Thank you for the flowers."

Tilting his head back, he looked at her, confused. "What flowers?"

A nervous, worried expression flickered across her face, and he felt bad. He couldn't do that to her. Ducking his head, he smiled.

She smacked him hard on the chest, trying not to laugh. "You're such a jerk."

Before she could withdraw her arm, he caught it and pulled her deftly onto his lap, amazed once more at how lightweight she was. He kissed her again and then pulled away and looked at her seriously. There was something he had to get out in the open, and he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it until he did. He paused, not really wanting to say it but forcing the words out anyway.

"You wanna talk about Mexico?" He waited apprehensively for her answer.

Her eyes wandered over his face searchingly, and he noticed for the first time that they were almost exactly the same shade of blue as his own. She appeared to be considering, biting her bottom lip slightly in thought. Finally, she looked directly into his eyes.

"No."

He felt a flood of gratitude so overpowering that he was afraid she would be able to see it, so he kissed her again to distract her.

"Okay, then," he said softly, pulling back.

They both realized that it was no trivial decision that had just been made. It had the potential to change everything. With that simple "no," it became clear that there would be no more talk of Kate leaving, at least not anytime soon.

She leaned her head onto his shoulder and rested it there, sighing deeply. He felt her entire body relax into him, the last traces of tension draining away. He wrapped both of his arms around her, tightly. Maybe they weren't really safe here, but it sure as hell felt like it. For now at least, the illusion was enough.

"Better finish makin' out that grocery list," he said.

"Okay," she whispered against his neck.

But neither one of them moved.


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks so much, everybody! I'm so happy that people aren't starting to lose interest, since it's getting so dang long. ;)

**Goldilocke **- I meant to go back and separate chapters 9 and 10 the day after I posted them to fix the wonky lineup, but I completely forgot - thanks for reminding me!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Kate pulled back a corner of the drapes and peeked out the front window again. Still not a sign of him. Sighing, she dropped the curtain and turned back into the room, trying to think of something else to do to kill some time. She'd already showered and done a load of laundry (remembering, of course, to strip the sheets off of Sawyer's bed). He'd left with the list at two, taking the truck since the car was still out of commission. She looked at the clock again, and saw that it was just after five. He should be back by now.

It wasn't like he never left her alone here. He'd found some excuse to go out just about every single day, in fact. She hadn't minded - it had actually been kind of nice to have the house to herself, free for a few hours of his temperamental presence. But this time was different, somehow. She was embarrassed to admit to herself that she actually _missed _him. And she was also getting a little worried. It shouldn't take this long to buy groceries.

To use up a few more minutes, she went upstairs to get the vase of wildflowers and brought it down to the kitchen table so that she would be able to see it while she prepared dinner. She still couldn't believe that he'd done something so..._un-Sawyer-like_. He must have been capable of turning on the charm in his scamming days, but she just couldn't picture it. And anyway, that had probably all been an act, with the ultimate aim of obtaining sex and money. This time it was genuine, which made all the difference in the world.

Going back to the front hall and glancing out the window again, she was surprised to see him walking up the driveway, a full bag of groceries under each arm. He looked dirty, sweaty, and, of course, pissed off. _Great_, she thought. _Now what_? She went to meet him on the back porch.

"What happened?" she asked, holding the door open for him.

"Guess the damn truck ain't fixed after all!" he said bitingly.

She sighed. "Where is it?"

"Halfway up the road. Now I gotta go get that douchebag Greg to try to pull it back up into the yard." He dropped the bags heavily onto the counter.

"Your neighbor?"

"That's the one," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think you can get this shit in the freezer before it melts?"

"What the hell is your problem?" she demanded, getting angry. "You act like this is somehow my fault."

"Well, if you want to get _technical_, sweetheart..."

"Oh, I _have _to hear this," she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Okay, _fine_. If you hadn't run off like a damn maniac to that truck stop last night, I never woulda had to try to drive the thing, and I wouldn't'a got my hopes up thinkin' it was fixed. Wouldn't'a taken it today, _and_..." He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and slammed the door, "It wouldn't be stranded up there in the ditch right now a mile away from the house." He took a long drink, still giving her a pissed-off look.

She stared at him in amused shock. "That's the most idiotic reasoning I've ever heard in my life. Can you even hear yourself when you talk?"

He started back out. "Just get the damn stuff unloaded. I'll be back with the rest." The door slammed behind him, and she heard his angry steps fade away.

She stood there, fighting the uncontrollable urge to laugh. Of course, she was also annoyed, but _Good God_, he was such a baby! No matter how random the misfortunes that descended upon him, he had to find _somebody _to blame. She'd be damned if she was going to be that somebody. She had enough _real _guilt to worry about without taking on the responsibility for chance occurrences like his stupid truck breaking down.

But for today at least, she would try to overlook his immaturity. She wanted things to go smoothly. Looking over at the flowers again, she tried to remind herself of _why_. It would be a shame if, after last night, they wrapped up today by fighting. She would do her best to take his mind off it and get him back into a better mood. For starters, she could make something nice for dinner. She started to poke around in the cabinets, searching.

* * *

Sawyer watched Greg's truck pull out of the driveway. It had taken nearly two hours, and the stupid bastard had been almost too stoned to see straight, but they'd finally gotten the damn thing back into the yard. It occurred to him as he watched his neighbor leave that he was now stranded here without a single working vehicle. Neither the car nor the truck would run, and he had no phone service.

But then he remembered what he _did _have here. Kate. The realization still took him by surprise, even though he should probably have been getting used to it by now. She had _actually chosen to stay_. Could that really have happened just this morning? It seemed like a dream.

Gradually, he felt his anger from the events of the afternoon seeping away. None of that really made any difference. What the hell had he been getting so bent out of shape about? He was going to get to sleep with Kate tonight, wasn't he? What could be so bad that it would cause him to forget that essential fact?

But _was _he going to sleep with her tonight? he wondered, growing uneasy. He now remembered how he'd yelled at her when he brought the groceries in, and how she'd immediately flared up. _Jesus_, he was an idiot. What the hell made him do stuff like that? He'd have to make it up to her. If she would let him, that was.

As he neared the door leading into the kitchen, he was momentarily startled by her sharp, angry voice. "_DAMN _it!"

Confused, he hurried in. "What's wrong?"

Turning toward him, she pulled on an oven mitt, lifted a pan up, and threw it forcefully down onto the counter in front of him. "Look at that," she said with barely controlled rage.

He looked. Whatever it was, it was black and burned to a crisp. Acrid smoke rose from it, collecting around the overhead ceiling light.

"What the hell is it?"

"It was _supposed _to be lasagna!" She yanked the oven mitt off and slammed it down, glaring at him. "Your oven's a piece of shit, Sawyer."

"Oh, so it's the oven's fault?" he asked, trying not to smile. He knew how much that would piss her off.

"No, you're right. It _is _my fault. And you know why? Because I don't know how to do this! I've never had the same kitchen for more than a few months at a time. I never really learned to cook - I've just picked up some random things along the way." She seemed almost on the verge of tears. "I'm not cut out for this. You want me to poison somebody for you? I can handle that. You want me to rob a bank, or hot wire a car? Then I'm your girl," she said bitterly. "But I can't even cook a damn lasagna."

"What the hell you talkin' about?" he asked, trying, in his own way, to sound supportive. "You're a great cook! Even that thing you made the first night that I didn't wanna eat...that asparagus crap..."

"_Artichoke_!"

"_Whatever_," he said, trying to keep his temper.

They both stared at each other for a few seconds, warily, breathing hard and poised for a conflict.

Then, despite her best efforts, the corner of Kate's mouth twitched slightly. She looked down at the floor, then back up at Sawyer. His eyes were gleaming with suppressed mirth.

"You know what, Freckles? I think maybe you were right...we woulda been better off on the damn island." He moved toward her, putting his hands lightly on her shoulders. He could tell she was trying not to smile. He went on. "No ovens to worry about there."

"Yeah," she said, softly. "No trucks, either."

He kissed her lightly.

She sighed. "I really wanted this to be a good day."

"Maybe we still got time to save it," he said, looking mysterious.

* * *

By the time Kate had finished making sandwiches, Sawyer had located an ancient wicker picnic basket at the top of a shelf in the pantry. He packed it up while she went to grab a flashlight. It was completely dark outside now.

When they reached the lake, Kate spread a blanket out on the dock with a flourish, even though there was really no need for it - they could have just sat on the wood surface. Still, it helped with the atmosphere.

They settled down to eat. There wasn't a full moon, but the stars, combined with their reflection on the surface of the lake, provided a dim glow - just enough to see by.

When they'd finished, Kate started to gather up the trash to re-pack, but Sawyer stopped her.

"Hold on, that ain't all. Got a surprise for ya."

She looked at him curiously.

Reaching into the bottom of the basket, he removed a towel and lifted out a bottle of champagne and two long-stemmed glasses, miraculously unbroken.

She gasped in delight. "_Champagne_! When did you get that?"

"Today." And then, in a voice that implied she shouldn't get her hopes up, he added, "It's just the cheap kind."

She was touched by his incessant need to downplay everything. "_Any _kind is fine."

He held the bottle out to her. "You wanna do the honors?"

"That's okay...you go ahead."

As he prepared to remove the cork, she stuck her fingers into her ears and tensed. The cork flew out with a loud popping sound and landed in the lake with a plunk. Kate lowered her hands and lifted up the glasses for him to pour the liquid into.

He smiled and shook his head as he poured. "Never will be able to figure you out."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've seen you volunteer to carry a gun into the jungle to chase down a deranged psychopath, and then stand there and watch him get pumped full 'a holes without even' blinkin.' But somebody pops a champagne cork, and you flinch like a damn cannon's gettin' shot off."

She smiled, nodding a little. "What can I say? I'm complicated."

"I'll drink to _that_," he said, raising his glass. They clinked them together and then brought them to their lips.

"It's good," Kate said reassuringly. "Even if it _is _cheap."

He gave her an appreciative smile.

After a few more glasses, Kate said slowly, as if she'd just thought of the fact, "You know...it's almost October."

"And?"

"And...the weather'll be changing. This is probably one of the last warm nights we'll have."

"So what do you propose we do with it?" he asked mischievously.

"Well...we _could _go swimming."

He seemed to consider this possibility.

"All right, sassafras. Let's say we _did _decide to go swimming. What were you plannin' to wear?"

"Nothing?" she said, as if it were a question, not a response.

"Good answer," he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling. "Matter of fact, a dip doesn't sound half bad right now."

Kate stood up, and with a few easy, fluid motions, removed all of her clothes within seconds. He watched, entranced. Even the movement by which she unhooked her bra and flung it to the ground was strangely graceful.

Then, to negate all the grace with which she had just rendered him spellbound, she jumped into the water like a ten-year-old boy, feet first, the same way she had at the waterfall on the island. A huge splash soared out behind her, drenching Sawyer.

"God _damn_, girl!" he called as she swam out from the dock. "Didn't anybody ever teach you how to dive?"

"Nope," she said with a smile. "And nobody's going to either, so don't get any ideas." She took a deep breath and disappeared under the water.

He peeled off his own clothes and managed to dive in just before she surfaced. She looked around for him, confused and nervous.

"Sawyer?"

Then she gasped in shock as his hands gripped her around the waist and pulled her back down under the water.

She came back to the surface, sputtering and annoyed. She punched him on the shoulder, hard enough to let him know that she meant business. "Don't do that to me! That isn't funny!" She started to swim away, but he caught her and pulled her back, kissing her. She relented despite her intentions and kissed him back.

Pulling away a little, she looked at him critically in the faint light. "Have I ever told you that I don't really _like _you all that much?"

"Baby, you've made that clear since the first second we met," he said with a grin. "Thank God we don't let a little thing like that get in our way, huh?"

She laughed and pushed away from him, swimming out farther into the lake. He sent a splash after her.

After a few seconds, he called out. "This remind you of anything?"

"Yeah," she said wistfully, coming back toward him. "No dead bodies in this one, though, right?

"Not that I know of." He pretended to think for a second. "Imagine the alligators would've eaten 'em all."

"_What_?" she asked, looking at him like he was crazy.

"Alligators," he repeated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and he was surprised she'd even asked.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

"Haven't you ever seen that movie where those alligators got set loose in that lake in Maine?"

"Yeah," she said skeptically.

"Well..." he went on. "It was a true story. 'Cept it didn't happen in Maine...Happened right here, in Tennessee."

"You're so full of shit, Sawyer." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious!" he said, as if he'd been offended. "Was on the national news for a month."

She ignored him, but he could tell she was vaguely considering the possibility, so he went on.

"Why do you think I hesitated when you asked about swimmin'? I had to weigh my options. Stay on shore and be safe, or go skinny dippin' with Freckles and risk getting eaten by a damn alligator. I guess you can see what won out."

Swimming all the way over to him, she put her arms around his neck. "It won't work," she said with a smile. "You know why? Because I'm a much better liar than you are."

"Ain't _that _the truth," he said, giving up the effort. She was right...it wouldn't be easy to bullshit her.

"But I bet you've gotten a lot of girls to believe that story, though, haven't you?"

He didn't answer for a second, but then he said quietly, almost shyly, "Never brought any girls here before."

"You're kidding," she said, incredulous. "But it's such a perfect place!"

He leaned back a little bit so that he could see her eyes. "They weren't worth it," he whispered.

Bending her head slightly so that he couldn't see her emotion, she asked softly, "Will you dance with me?"

"_What_? Right _now_?"

"Yeah, right _now_. Did you think I meant tomorrow?"

"You hear some kinda music that I don't?"

"You don't have to have music to dance."

He looked at her doubtfully. "Never heard of anybody dancin' in the water."

Giving him a sly smile, she whispered, "There's a lot you can do in the water. Dance with me and I'll prove it to you."

Now she had his interest. "You got yourself a deal."

He kissed her again, deeply, and this time she didn't mind when he pulled her under the surface.


	16. Chapter 16

Hey, guys...sorry for the late chapter! I'm sure you've noticed the site's been semi-down - let's hope it's fixed now!

Note: The part of Greg will be played (at least in _my _head) by John C. Reilly (the chubby loser in movies like Boogie Nights, Chicago, and What's Eating Gilbert Grape) :)

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Sawyer opened his eyes and saw Kate over on the far side of the bed, backed up practically to the edge. He was infinitely relieved that she wasn't one of those girls who wanted to sleep right up against him all night long. He _hated _that. Maybe for awhile when you were first drifting off, but the entire night? That was just overkill. He was thankful for the fact that she seemed to need her space just as much as he needed his.

Another thing to be grateful for this morning was the fact that she was sleeping in the nude, and, since at some point during her sleep she had pushed the sheets down to her waist, he had ample opportunity to take in the view before she woke up. All in all, it was starting out to be a pretty good day.

They were in Kate's room, because upon returning from the lake after midnight, she'd realized that she'd never remembered to transfer Sawyer's sheets from the washer to the dryer. He'd blamed her for being shortsighted, even though her laundry consistency was much better than his, since he generally only did a load every three weeks or so. She'd blamed him for being so cheap and unprepared as to have only _one _set of sheets. In the end, they'd settled the matter by deciding to sleep in Kate's room, since, as she'd pointed out, it was cleaner anyway. Plus, it had new wallpaper - to which added incentive Sawyer had responded sarcastically, "Boy, you sure know what turns a man on, don't you, sweetheart?"

But now, he was glad the mistake had been made for the simple fact that the drapes were of a lighter-colored fabric than the ones in his room, and thus let through more daylight. More daylight meant that he could see her more clearly. And there was plenty to see.

Just as he was settling in for a nice, uninterrupted scrutiny, however, she opened her eyes. Noticing him watching her, she buried her face in the pillow a little and stretched. Then, realizing how much of her body was exposed, she pulled the sheet back up to her neck, smiling at him and blushing a little.

_Damn_. Although he had to admit it was cute that she was so modest. It was always the ones you'd least expect.

He smiled back at her, but tried to act disappointed. "What the hell you wanna do that for?"

"I think you saw enough of me last night, didn't you?" She pulled herself over to him and leaned onto his chest.

"It was dark then."

"Good. What's that old saying? 'The darkness is a woman's best friend?'"

"Oh, _please_. That's for old ladies and fat chicks. I don't think you got anything to worry about quite yet." He ran his hand through her hair and looked at her quizzically. "How old _are _you, anyway?"

It occurred to him for the first time that he didn't really know. According to Jack, she was in her twenties, but that could mean anything from twenty to twenty-nine. He wasn't about to attempt a guess. He knew from experience that that was one game you _never _wanted to play.

"You're not supposed to ask that," she said, pretending offense.

"Come on now, you really gonna pull that one? You got so many secrets I wouldn't think _age _would be at the top of your list."

She studied him for a second, but then gave in, sighing. "I'm twenty-five."

"Christ," he said, looking concerned. "I'm a damn cradle robber."

She laughed.

He waited a second, but she didn't say anything else. "Aren't you gonna ask how old _I _am?"

"I don't have to ask, I already know. I found your passport, remember?" She paused for effect, and then said with a perfectly straight face, "It's okay...I like older men."

"_Older men_," he said scornfully.

"Don't worry," she said in a soothing tone. "You've still got five good years before forty."

"Why don't you shut the hell up?" he muttered.

She laughed, unable to maintain her composure any longer. "Yeah, well...I'll be twenty-six in a few weeks, so that'll bridge the gap a little."

"What day?"

"October 15th."

"Well now..." he said mysteriously. "That's comin' up right around the corner, ain't it? Hope you're not expectin' a big party, though. We might have a little trouble makin' out the guest list."

"I'm not much of a party girl. You get another bottle of champagne, and that'll be good enough for me. I haven't celebrated my birthday in about five years anyway, so it doesn't really mean anything. It's just another day..." She looked a little sad when she said this, so she lowered her head into his neck, hoping he wouldn't notice.

He had noticed, but instead of saying anything, he kissed her cheek. "How the hell you always manage to smell so good, anyway?"

"I probably smell like the lake," she mumbled, her voice muffled against him.

"Nope," he replied. "Smell the same way you always do...even on the island."

She raised her head and looked at him suspiciously. "How do _you _know what I smelled like on the island?"

"What do you mean, _how do I know_?" he asked incredulously. "You tackled me just about every damn day, girl." He winked at her. "You know, for two people who weren't screwin', we sure were on top of each other a lot, weren't we?"

She closed her eyes, sighing. "You have such a charming way of putting things."

They looked at each for a few seconds, both reflecting on how unlikely it was that they'd managed to end up here, in bed together, indulging in meaningless morning chit-chat.

Kate's face grew a little more serious. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"If we had to do it all over again, would you give me that spot on the raft?"

He seemed to consider, and then said, with a hint of a smirk, "No."

She smiled a little, biting her lip. "Sawyer," she whispered, slowly.

"Yeah?"

"_Would you give me the spot on the raft_?"

Leaning up, he kissed her lightly, lovingly. He laid his head back on the pillow and regarded her with gravity.

"Nope."

She tried hard not to laugh. "You're such an asshole."

"Good thing you like _older men, _then, huh?"

She stood up. "I'm gonna take a shower." Stopping in the doorway, she looked back at him. "If you make it downstairs, maybe you could manage to get some coffee on. If your hip doesn't give out, that is."

She managed to duck into the hall just as the pillow crashed into the doorframe.

* * *

When she came downstairs later, he was sitting at the table reading a newspaper.

"I didn't know you got the paper."

"I don't. Bought it yesterday in town."

"Oh." She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned over him from behind. "Shower's free."

"Is that a hint?"

"Maybe," she said. "You might not think _I _smell like the lake, but _you _sure do."

"Think so, huh?"

"Yep. I also happened to notice an electric razor up there in the medicine cabinet. You remember how those work?"

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

She smiled and balanced her chin on the top of his head, looking at the paper. Squinting and peering closer, she said in surprise, "Shannon signed a _book deal_?"

"Where's it say that?"

She tapped the upper right-hand corner of the paper, where a small headline proclaimed "Castaway Beauty to Pen Memoirs."

Sawyer snorted in laughter. "Wonder who she'll get to write it for her?"

Kate wandered over to the sink. "Be nice," she said warningly. "She _did _lose her brother, after all."

"Yeah? You might wanna hold that thought," he said, scanning over the article. "Listen to this." He picked up the paper and read from it.

_"When asked about her perception of the notoriously dangerous fugitive, Kate Austin, who was also among the stranded survivors of Oceanic Flight 815, Ms. Rutherford had this to say: 'I didn't really know her all that well, but she creeped me out right from the start. She was always sticking her nose in everyone's business and trying to play people against each other. She also thought she was way hotter than the rest of us. But I'll go into all that in my book_.' " Sawyer stopped reading and looked up at Kate.

"That _bitch_," she said, in bemused shock. Sawyer tried not to laugh.

She stood there in thought. "When did I try to play people against each other?"

"Well..." Sawyer started, knowing that he shouldn't say anything but unable to stop himself. "You tried to steal my spot on the raft by makin' it look like I poisoned someone."

She still looked annoyed. "Yeah...but other than that?"

"What about when you got Jack to get the keys for that case by havin' him come after me? Or that one time when you..."

"All _right_!" she interrupted him. "Would you just go get in the shower?"

He came around behind her and kissed her neck. "Don't let it bother you none. Sticks was just jealous."

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "All the girls want to be like me."

He went toward the door. "I gotta run up to Greg's and use the phone later to get a damn mechanic out here. He's got some parts he's gonna sell me cheap, anyway."

"Don't you think you should probably have your phone service turned back on?"

"Ain't nobody I wanna talk to!" he hollered as he went up the stairs.

She sighed and shook her head.

Going into the pantry, she pulled the sheets out of the dryer from where she'd left them last night. As she gathered them into the laundry basket and turned back toward the kitchen, she stopped in shock, a jolt of terror traveling immediately throughout her entire body.

There was a man standing at the screen door, peering into the room.

"James? Where the hell you at?" he called.

Even though she froze, there was no way he could avoid seeing her. He turned his head a little and noticed her there. Squinting his eyes as if he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at, he opened the screen door casually and stepped into the kitchen.

Kate swallowed hard and tried to keep her heart from pounding. Her immediate instinct was to take the guy out and run, but she did her best to quell this impulse. If she stayed calm, maybe there was a chance she wouldn't have to.

Looking at her as if he thought something was vaguely funny, he said, "Oh...Didn't realize he had a _houseguest_."

It began to dawn on her that this must be the neighbor Sawyer had referred to - Greg. She noticed that his eyes were red and he appeared to be stoned already, at 11:00 in the morning. But he didn't appear hostile or threatening. He was slightly chubby and had curly hair, and he looked like the loser sidekick in every movie ever made. She knew Sawyer hated him, but then again, Sawyer hated _everybody_. That wasn't much to go by. If the guy didn't recognize her, then maybe she could just bluff her way through the encounter.

She walked towards him slowly, hoping he wouldn't notice that her knees were trembling.

He looked her up and down, appreciatively. "Got those parts he wanted," he said, his gaze getting stuck on her breasts and not moving any farther up.

"James is...in the shower," she said slowly. It felt completely bizarre to refer to Sawyer as James; it was the first time she'd had occasion to do so. "He should be right out. You, um...you want some coffee?"

He finally looked back up at her face. "Ehhh." Wiping a hand across his nose, he gazed blankly around the room.

Was that a yes or a no? Confused, Kate moved over to the cabinet, deciding to pour a mug anyway.

She turned back around to find him looking at her more sharply, almost suspiciously. She felt her hands shake a little as she carried the cup over to him.

"Hey..." he said quietly, as if he'd just thought of something. "Wait a minute..." He smiled slyly at her.

"I know who you are."


	17. Chapter 17

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that this chapter is pretty much just filler - I went way over the top with Greg, to the point where I'll probably offend somebody. I just couldn't help myself - I really started to like him. I promise the next chapter will be more focused... ;)

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

Kate froze, trying her best to look casual and unconcerned. Her heart, however, was pounding a mile a minute. _This could be it_, she thought. _It could all be over right now._

"I'm sorry?" she asked, as if she hadn't heard him. That would buy her some time, at least.

"Yeah," he went on, nodding, confirming his suspicions. "At first I wasn't sure, but then I got to lookin' at you real close...and it just come to me, all of a sudden, like."

He paused.

"Sally, right? Sally Malone?"

Kate didn't move. She had absolutely no idea what was happening, or how to respond.

He went on nodding at her, smiling as if to encourage her. "It's me! Greg!"

She started to realize what was going on here, but was still too confused to respond normally. She finally managed to say, hesitantly, "Greg?"

"Yeah! Prolly didn't recognize me, huh? Yeah, I packed on a few since high school days, but I still play some football every now and again...Thinkin' a tryin' out for the pros next season," he added, in a tone that indicated he was really too modest to mention this, but what the heck?

"Really?" Kate asked, starting to get her bearings now.

"Haven't decided yet, though..." he admitted. "But _damn_! Sally Malone!" He shook his head in wonder. "How long's it been, girl?"

With this, he crossed the kitchen to her and pulled her forcefully into a hug. She stiffened, once again fighting the uncontrollable urge to just knock him out and be done with it. But she knew that in this case, playing along was probably her best bet. Patting him awkwardly on the shoulder, she tried to ignore the fact that he smelled like stale sweat and onion rings.

"It's...been a while," she said, pulling away from him and attempting to put some space in between the two of them.

"Man, you and me had us some good times, didn't we? We musta gone steady for...how long was it? All of senior year?"

"Something like that," she said, glancing toward the door. _Please God, let Sawyer take a quick shower_, she thought. _Why the hell did I tell him to shave?_

"_Damn_..." he said, still clearly amazed at this unexpected blast from his past. "I see you got that mole removed...What'd I tell ya, huh?" he asked with a grin. "Always told ya you'd look better without it, didn't I?"

"You were right," she said, with a stiff, awkward smile.

"_Sally Malone_..." he repeated in awe. "So what the hell you been up to?" He looked around the kitchen, as if he'd just now noticed where he was. Pointing down at the floor, he asked in shock,"You with _this _son-of-a-bitch now? _James_?"

"Mm-hm," she said, the smile still frozen on her face.

"Course...I just call him that as a joke, you know. Me and him's like brothers...We're _real _close."

_Does he know that_? Kate thought.

"And just so you know, I never held no hard feelin's about the way things went between us. I mean, I guess I coulda been pissed about you sleepin' with that guy and runnin' off with him, but hell, he _was _your cousin. And the way I see it is, family comes first." He spoke this last statement with absolute moral conviction.

Kate felt like something more was required of her here. "Yeahhhh... I always felt bad about the way things ended."

He looked appreciative. "So how _is _Joe, anyway?"

"Joe?" she asked, trying to think fast. "Joe's...Joe's in prison." She had no idea who the hell Joe was, but if he'd slept with his cousin, it wasn't a _complete _stretch to guess that he might be in prison.

Greg looked as if he should have expected this. "Welll...Happens to the best of us."

She nodded slowly, pretending to digest this bit of wisdom.

"Hey...you remember that time when we was doin' it in the bathroom at the Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the place caught on fire and we didn't even know it, so we just kept right on goin?" He laughed. "You 'member that?"

"Wow...I'd almost forgotten about that." _For the love of God, Sawyer, hurry up_, she thought.

"And you 'member that other time when we was goin' at it in your barn and your dad come after me with a shotgun? Good thing he only had the one eye, or I might not be here today." He shook his head fondly. "How _is _the old man, anyway?"

She tried to think of something that would end the conversation. "Unfortunately, Dad passed away last year."

"Really?" he asked, puzzled. "_Damn_. Coulda sworn I seen him down at the VFW last month tellin' that story about how your mom tried to castrate him. But hell, all those crazy vets sound the same after awhile."

There was a slight lull in the conversation. Suddenly, Greg glanced surreptitiously around the room as if afraid someone might be hiding there, listening. Moving closer to Kate, he asked in a low, confidential tone, "Hey Sally...You, uh...You still like to smoke weed?"

At a loss as to how to respond, she opened her mouth, but before she could answer, he went on.

"Because, uh... I got some _really _good shit I could sell you cheap. You know, seein' as how we're old friends and all. I mean, this shit'll blow your _mind_, Sal. You 'member that stash we stole from your crazy aunt...the one with all the peacocks? Well, this shit's even better than _that_, if you can believe it."

"Actually...I've been trying to cut back lately, Greg."

He looked at her as if she'd just announced her intention to stop breathing air. "Why the hell would you wanna do a thing like that?"

"I don't know...It just seems like it's... time to give it a try." She made her best effort to seem sincere and natural, stealing a glance at the door to check for any trace of Sawyer.

"Well..." He paused, considering. This was a new idea to him. "Hell, maybe you're right. Guess my brother Tucker woulda been better off if he'd gone that route too. Course, it's too late now. You remember Tuck, don'tcha?"

"Of course...How _is _Tucker?"

"Not so good these days. But really, I don't blame the pot so much as the damn mule."

"The mule?" Kate asked, with the conviction that this conversation couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Yeah," he said, sighing. "After his wife up and left him, he just got so lonely...And it's a damn shame too, because if he'd just left the thing out in the barn, the sheriff woulda been none the wiser. But he had to go and build it a ramp so he could back it up into the house. And it ain't like the _mule _minds it," he went on, as if this should be obvious to anyone with half a brain.

"Hell," he said, leaning over to Kate conspiratorially, "I can tell you for a fact that the _mule _don't mind it at all."

She stared at him for a few seconds, and then walked quickly to the kitchen door. "**JAMES!** You have company!"

Turning back to Greg with a slight smile, she tried not to meet his eyes, fearing she would lose it. "He'll be right down."

She heard Sawyer's footsteps on the stairs almost immediately. "What are you talkin' about?" he called out, confused. "And why the hell are you callin me..." He froze at the doorway into the kitchen, seeing Greg. The look on his face was dangerous, almost lethal. But Greg clearly had no receptors with which to register it at all.

"Hey, man... I brought you them parts you wanted." Greg seemed almost shy, like he had a crush on Sawyer.

"Thought I told you I'd come up to _your _place." Sawyer's voice was calm, but with barely contained rage.

"You did?" He scratched his head and seemed to think about this. Kate actually felt a little sorry for him. Then he shrugged it off. "Ah, well. It's all the same, ain't it?"

"No, it's not all the same, because I needed to use your _phone_. You remember _now_?" He looked as if he could easily beat the guy to death without a second thought. Kate knew, however, that the reason he was this edgy was that Greg had seen her and threatened their safety here, not just because he was pissed at the guy himself. She prayed he wouldn't unintentionally give her away through his anger.

"Oh, that's all right," Greg replied, as if he was having a casual chat with his best buddy. "You can just use my cell phone."

He pulled something out of his back pocket. "Aw, shit. That's my remote control."

Kate put her hand to her mouth and pressed hard, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"Well, I'll just drive you back up to the house, then," he said, replacing the remote. "I don't regret comin' by though, cause me and Sally here got a chance to catch up on old times." He grinned at Sawyer good-naturedly. "Bet you didn't even know me and her used to be together, did ya?"

Sawyer looked at Kate. She raised her eyebrows and nodded almost imperceptibly. _Go with it_, she seemed to say.

"You don't say..." he muttered savagely, still looking at her.

"Oh, yeah!" Greg was delighted. "We were together for...what was it? All of freshman year?"

Earlier it had been senior year, but Kate didn't mention the discrepancy. It would just confuse him more, anyway. "Yep," she said, nodding, looking pointedly at Sawyer.

"There was this one time...when, uh.." Greg was hardly able to finish his story through his memory-inspired chuckles. "When, uh...a bunch of us went up to Fairhaven for the game, and Sal tried to moon this cop on the way home, but she forgot the window in the truck was broke...She musta had her ass stuck up there for about four, five hours." He shook his head in admiration. "Never complained once."

Sawyer still stared at Kate. "Guess there's a lot I don't know about you, _Sally_."

She looked down at the floor, biting the insides of her cheeks. "It was a long time ago," she whispered.

Greg spoke to Sawyer. "Hope you ain't mad that I had her first," he said, looking a little worried. "Wouldn't want nothin' like that to come between us. Hell, with Sally, there's enough to go around! Ain't that right, Sal?"

Kate didn't respond. She was watching Sawyer, hoping he wouldn't lose control of himself.

With his teeth clenched, Sawyer asked Greg, "You ready to go?"

"Whenever you are," he replied, happy to oblige. Sawyer made a motion to herd him out the door, and he called back cheerfully to Kate, "It sure was good to see you, girl! Don't you forget about me, now!"

She waved at him slightly. "There's not a chance of that happening, Greg."

Not detecting even a trace of irony, he looked delighted to hear this.

As Sawyer pushed him down the porch steps, she could hear his voice trailing off.

"Seriously, man, this shit'll blow your _mind_."

* * *

When Sawyer came back into the house about fifteen minutes later, he found Kate sitting on the floor in the hallway outside the kitchen, leaning back against the wall of the staircase. She had a strange, self-contained look on her face, and she was completely still, staring at the floor. She seemed eerily calm, as if she was trying to hold something back.

He stopped, looking down at her. "What the hell was that about?"

Slowly, she let her gaze travel up to him, and with a gleam in her eye, she said in a soft voice, "I'm sorry." She paused. "It's always awkward when old boyfriends show up."

Then, to his absolute amazement, she bent her head over onto her knees and started to laugh uncontrollably. He watched her, bewildered and a little annoyed, but also mesmerized. The most he'd ever heard her laugh was when he was going through the ordeal of getting his quote-unquote "glasses" on the island, but that was nothing compared to this. The laughter poured out of her unchecked, filling the house. She could hardly catch her breath.

In spite of himself, he found it hard to hold back a smile. Her laughter was almost contagious. Sliding down beside her onto the floor, he waited until she could get herself under control.

Finally, her laughter tapered off, dwindling into occasional spasmodic giggles. Her face was bright red, and she wiped tears from her cheeks.

He watched her. "Glad you find this so entertaining, sweetheart, because I gotta say, I'm not exactly seein' the humor in the situation. He could have recognized you."

"Oh, come _on_... You could have had Wonder Woman standing in your kitchen and he wouldn't have recognized her." She tried to hold back more laughter.

"Well, next time it might be someone else, and they might not be stoned off their ass and dumb as a stump to boot. We gotta start leavin' that inner door closed...the screen door's not good enough."

"All right," she agreed.

Then, assuming a still more sober expression, she looked at Sawyer closely. "Hey."

He turned to her, reluctantly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He acted like he didn't want to say. After a few seconds, he looked away again. "I woulda killed him. If he'd known who you were."

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. "I know you would have. That's what scares me. And I don't want you to try to do that. No matter what happens. Okay?"

No response.

"Sawyer."

Instead of answering, he reached over and put his arm around her shoulders. She slid down the wall, closer to him, and sighed, giving up. It was useless to try to get him to change his mind about something like that. To be honest, she didn't know if she really wanted him to. It made her feel that much safer.

After a few seconds, she asked, in a lighter tone, "So...did you know her?"

"Did I know _who_?"

"Sally." He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was smiling again.

"I didn't go to high school here." He thought a minute. "But yeah, I remember her from grade school. She was a whore even then."

"Sawyer!" she said, sounding offended. "How can you say that about a little girl?"

"What! She used to charge a dollar to pull down her underpants and let the boys look as long as they wanted," he answered in a defensive tone.

"You're making that up."

"How you think I lost my lunch money every day?"

She shook her head against his shoulder, trying to act disgusted. "Well, I'm just glad I got a chance to share in her shame."

She pulled back a little and looked at him reflectively. "You don't really think we have anything to worry about from him, do you?"

"I doubt it. Stupid son-of-a-bitch won't even be here much longer...Just told me his uncle had a bumper crop of marijuana this year, so he's headed down to Florida day after tomorrow to share in the harvest." He spoke derisively. "Asked me to feed his cat."

"Are you going to?" Kate asked, curiously.

"I _would_. 'Cept the damn thing got run over by a tractor-trailer six months ago." He looked at her. "Like I said, guy's a few bricks short of a load."

She smiled. "Would you think I was crazy if I told you I kind of liked him?"

"Yeah." He tried not to smile at her. "But if you're worried about him comin' to his senses on down the road and realizin' who you are, we can always take off...go somewhere safer."

"I know." She looked sad all of a sudden. "But I don't want to. Not yet." In a voice that was almost a whisper, she continued. "I'm so tired of running. I just want to _stay _somewhere for a while."

"You sure that's what you want? Even if it's more dangerous?"

She nodded decisively. "Yeah."

He sighed. A few days ago, he'd been unable to convince her that it was in her best interest to stay. Now he was equally unable to convince her that it was in her best interest to go.

"You're as stubborn as a damn mule, you know that?"

A funny expression drifted across her face. "Sawyer?" she asked, in that strangely calm voice she'd used earlier.

"What?"

"Could you do me a favor and not mention mules again, _ever_?"

Then, mystified, he watched as she dissolved into peals of laughter yet again.


	18. Chapter 18: An Interlude

Thanks so much for continuing to review, guys! I can't believe I've been so lucky to have such loyal and positive reviewers! To answer some questions...

**Lynn:** The thing about Kate/Evangeline Lilly's eyes always bugs me, because half the time on the show they look green, and half the time they look blue (in pictures it's the same situation), and in some interviews/articles they describe her as having blue eyes, some green. So either she has eyes that change color, or somebody's just wrong half the time. Lol. But in a lot of scenes (on my TV at least) I've noticed that she and Sawyer seem to have the same color eyes, so that's why I added that. ;)

**Dark-Angel206: **You're lucky you don't get the mule thing. Lol. The sad thing is, it's not entirely fictional..my aunt's neighbor was arrested because he had "inappropriate relations" with his horse (and he actually DID build a ramp to bring it inside.) Yep...There're some high-quality folks around here. ;)

This chapter is more of a "time-passing" interlude than a regular chapter, so I'm posting it separately. Next update will be an honest-to-God regular chapter again.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: An Interlude**

Looking back later at the series of days that followed Kate's decision to stay, both of them would have been hard-pressed to remember anything specific, save for the notable exception of Greg's visit. (And that, to Kate at least, was something that would remain, for better or worse, lodged in her memory forever.) In retrospect, the days spooled out like a film reel; a shifting montage of sex scenes and tender moments interspersed with an occasional mild argument.

And it wasn't an exaggeration to say that the arguments _were _mild, for that brief interval at least. Somehow, despite their expectations, they managed to get along almost uncannily well. It was in some ways like a honeymoon - an adjustment period during which they metamorphosed from two people who were accustomed to "looking but not touching" into two people who could have their fill of as much touching as they wanted.

And they certainly did their best to fulfill their quota - in every single room of the house, on every piece of furniture imaginable, and at all times of the day and night. They discovered unknown properties of the kitchen table, the washing machine, even the attic stairs (although the discomfort of this last location discouraged a second visit.) The shower was no longer just for showering and the porch swing was no longer just for swinging. They discovered what they were good at and what they weren't good at; what they liked and what they didn't like; what they _would _do and what they definitely _wouldn't _do. (Kate's list of what she wouldn't do was slightly longer than Sawyer's, but both had expected that.)

Because they were around each other constantly, the temptation was ever-present. While doing dishes, Kate would realize that Sawyer's hands had somehow found their way under her shirt. In the middle of shaving, Sawyer would look down to find that Kate was for some reason tugging on his belt buckle. Resistance was futile. They both gave in, every time. They could always finish what they'd been doing, later. They had all the time in the world.

Or at least that was what they believed. Not sincerely; not with conviction, deep down. But that was only because they wouldn't let themselves think of _anything _that deeply or seriously. None of it was tangible to them. They floated along without any contemplation of what might be around the corner, focusing only on each other. They resisted thinking of the future with the same ardor with which they generally fought off the demons of the past. For a little while at least, there _was _no future or past. They existed solely in the present moment. And for perhaps the first time, they were glad to be there.

Sometimes, Kate would find herself watching Sawyer when he didn't know she was looking. This was still the same man who'd once tried to make her think that Jack was dead in a cave-in; who'd bribed a kiss out of her with the false promise of information about Shannon's inhalers; the man who'd exposed her in front of everybody as the fugitive being escorted by the marshal. That was all still true, and it still made her annoyed as hell to think about it, but now she knew so many more things about him, that, trivial though they were, almost counteracted the others.

Like the day they'd found a mouse scratching around in the bottom of the kitchen trash and he'd carried it outside and set it free because he didn't want to kill it. Or the way she'd discovered, by accident, that he was so ticklish in the spot above his knees that just the threat of her reaching toward him caused him to go into full defensive mode. Or even the way he got pissed off and sulked when she opened a jar of pickles that he'd been working at for a full five minutes with no luck.

She wasn't amazed that he was great in bed...she'd always had her suspicions about that. It was the things he did in between the sex that continued to surprise her. Sometimes he would scoop her up and carry her around the house for no apparent reason at all. He could run his hands through her hair for an hour without getting bored, and once he had even tried to _count _the freckles on her nose (although he'd given up in frustration because she wouldn't hold still). He was so good at giving massages that she suspected he must have had some kind of training as a masseuse. Or at least at one point he'd probably been _sleeping _with a masseuse - the more likely scenario.

But what she'd never foreseen - what still had the power to shock her, no matter how many times it was made evident - was his protectiveness. Somehow, she hadn't expected that from him. She'd imagined that, in the unlikely event the two of them did become involved, his self-centeredness and self-pity would leave her pretty much on her own to fend for herself. But nothing could be further from the truth, it seemed. If they were on the porch at night, the sound of a distant car that she'd barely even registered would cause him to tense up and draw her more tightly against him. He installed new locks on all the doors and even shelled out for a security system. (Of course, if the police showed up armed with a warrant to search his house, none of it would make any difference, but both of them tried not to think of that.) She grew accustomed to his brusque warnings to lock up and close the drapes, knowing now that they stemmed not from irritation but from fear.

Sawyer, for his part, was learning to downshift from the mysterious to the mundane, and he was surprised by how much he was enjoying it. He'd always been fascinated by Kate - since the first day they'd met and she'd pretended (not very well, either, in his opinion) that she didn't know how to take a gun apart. Not only had she been gorgeous, but she'd been strong, secretive, and likely dangerous. He'd been drawn to her on the island from day one, and he'd never made a secret out of it.

But now...it was the _least _fascinating, _least _intriguing aspects of her character that he found himself the most enthralled by. She was afraid of clowns. She didn't know how to whistle. She was a chronic cover-stealer, and no matter how many times he tried to steal them back, he woke up exposed to the air. She watched cartoons. When she drank soda too fast, she got hiccups that lasted for hours, to his absolute delight. She liked to lay with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

All of these were relatively trivial things - characteristics that might have been possessed by any number of the women he'd been with. But they didn't belong to those women, they belonged to _Kate_. And because of that, they were invested with an aura of importance that they never would have had otherwise. Not that he'd ever bothered to pay attention to details like that before, anyway. It had never occurred to him to wonder whether the woman he was sleeping with had a good singing voice (Kate's was terrible), or whether she preferred chocolate or vanilla ice cream (Kate preferred chocolate, swirled around until it was nothing but a goopy mush.)

They both adjusted, not only to each other, but to the situation itself. Most significantly, they learned how to stay put. Gradually, they lost their restless urge to be on the move. Sawyer was almost embarrassed to admit to himself that he might possibly be feeling some kind of nesting impulse. Luckily, he didn't force himself to analyze it too deeply. Kate, contrary to her nature, seemed to be at peace. On the island, she'd maintained a restless, active drive, even if she was only picking fruit or planting seeds. But here, for the first time in her life, she gave in to laziness, and was shocked that she'd never before known the pleasures of doing absolutely nothing at all. (Well, not _exactly _nothing...the two of them certainly managed a good aerobic workout everyday, even if most people wouldn't have called it by that name.)

If they could later have replayed their mental footage of this period, they would have caught glimpses of themselves hanging around each others' necks in the lake which was now covered with a thick fog in the early autumn air. They would have seen themselves making out on the couch like teenagers in the bluish glow of a late-night talk show. They would have watched as they argued about whether it was really necessary to flush if you'd only peed a little. (Sawyer maintained that it was _not_.) They would even have witnessed their second attempt at a Monopoly game. This time, just like the first, the board was knocked to the side and the houses and hotels were scattered in every direction.

But for an entirely different reason.


	19. Chapter 19

I can never say it enough..but I love you guys! You. complete. me. LOL. Thank you so much for reviewing!

To answer some questions...

**  
Jenny7: **The "L" word will become an issue in the future. ;) Right now, I think they're probably both in denial..after all, they're so good at lying to other people that they can probably fool themselves as well.

**CorruptPunkPrincess (Katie): **I emailed you at your Hotmail account. ;)

**musicbrat: **The "entirely different reason" was just a reference to the fact that they were gettin' busy on the Monopoly board (instead of Kate kicking it trying to get away from Sawyer's kiss, like the first time.)

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

Kate sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of iced tea and staring at the photograph she'd found buried deep inside the closet of the downstairs bedroom - the room that had once been Sawyer's. She'd been examining it for about twenty minutes now, but it hadn't lost her interest yet.

Not that there was anything particularly notable about the picture itself. It was a standard-issue school photo; a kid seated on a stool in front of one of those bland, undistinguished dark blue backdrops that school photographers the world over seem to prefer. Judging from the retro brown-and-white striped shirt the boy wore, it appeared to have been taken in the mid-seventies. But it wasn't the shirt that had caught her attention when she'd pulled the 5 x 7 print out of a pile of old birthday cards and newspaper clippings. It was the look in the little boy's eyes - a look she knew all too well.

He stared at the camera defiantly, fiercely, without a trace of a smile, as if this was something he was being made to do against his will. She could imagine the anxious, frazzled teacher standing off to the side watching this procedure, tensed and ready to drag the kid back to the stool if he tried to make a run for it. Kate almost smiled at the thought of the torment he must have been to his teachers. He had the tousled, scuffed look of a boy who, no matter how recently he'd been groomed and scrubbed, would manage to look like he'd been fighting in the dirt a mere ten minutes later.

In this photograph, he was tanned, as if it had been taken right at the beginning of a school year, after a long summer spent outside in the sun. His dark blonde hair was flecked with lighter gold, and it badly needed a trim. His eyes were a clear, startling blue, the color of the lake when the light hit it in just the right way. But what Kate had noticed immediately upon glancing at the photograph was the expression that lurked in those eyes _behind _the indignation. It was a fearful, haunted look...the look of a boy already searching for something that he was destined never to find.

Scrawled hurriedly, distractedly across the back in a woman's hand were the words "James - 2nd Grade." Nothing more. No last name, no year, no age, no dedication to a friend or relative. Just the barest minimum of description, as if the woman had suspected even then that nobody was ever likely to care what James had looked like in the second grade, so why waste time with the details? Kate wondered if his mother had written this, maybe when she'd already commenced her affair with the man who would ultimately be the cause of her death. Or had this picture been taken _after _that tragic night, the words written by a distant aunt or cousin who'd been saddled with the responsibility for an angry, wounded little boy she didn't know how to deal with?

While she was still weighing these possibilities, Kate heard footsteps on the back porch. She tensed, surprised that she hadn't heard any car door slam. She'd apparently been looking at the photograph so intently that she'd blocked out background noises. Waiting apprehensively for the sound of knocking, she was relieved to hear instead Sawyer's keys jingling in the lock.

It took him awhile, as it always did. He was having trouble getting used to the new locks. With amusement, she heard the key chain drop to the porch, followed by his muttered, "God _damn _it." She considered getting up and unlocking it from the inside, but she knew that would piss him off. He hated any gesture that implied he needed help. So she just sat there, waiting.

Finally, he managed to stick the key in and turn it at the right angle, pushing the door open. She turned around to face him, smiling a little. She was still surprised by how glad she was to see him when he returned from one of his outings. It was good to be alone for awhile, but it was even better when he came back.

"Brought Chinese," he said by way of greeting, dropping some bags on the countertop.

"Sounds good," she replied. She took another drink of the iced tea as he came around behind her, leaning down to brush his lips against her neck. Setting the glass down, she said, "Look what I found."

But he'd already seen. Even as she spoke, she could feel him tense up behind her, drawing back a little at the same time.

"Where the hell'd you get that?" He spoke flatly, almost emotionlessly.

"In the closet in the downstairs bedroom."

"What were you in _there _for?"

"I was cleaning." She turned around a little to face him, disturbed by the tone of his voice.

"_Cleaning_," he echoed. "Kind of becoming the all-purpose excuse for pokin' around in shit that don't belong to you, isn't it?"

Surprised and hurt, she couldn't even answer him for a second. "I _told _you I was gonna clean in there before you left. You didn't say anything. Were you even listening to me?"

Not responding, he tore his eyes away from the picture and moved over to the refrigerator. Taking out a can of beer, he drank about half of it in one swig.

She watched him, confused, trying to understand. "It's just an old school picture, Sawyer. What's the big deal?"

He turned toward her, and she could tell he was making an effort to control his temper. "What's the big deal?" he echoed. "Maybe the _big deal _is that I don't wanna see the damn thing. Did you think of that? It ever occur to you when you dragged it out that maybe it's not somethin' I'd enjoy lookin' at?"

"There's no reason to get this upset," she said.

He shook his head in contempt. "No.. _'Course not_," he said sarcastically. "Wonder how you'd like it if I waltzed in here with a little memento from the good ol' Iowa days...asked you to take a look?"

She lowered her eyes to the floor, a vague sense of recognition finally dawning. She realized that she'd made a mistake.

"But that'd be different, right?" he went on, bitterly. "Because then it'd be _you_."

She sighed deeply. Everything had been going so well lately; almost _too _well. But she'd counted on it being _him _who'd finally screw things up, not her. Now she felt terrible. She also couldn't believe that she hadn't predicted this, considering the way he generally reacted to anything related to his history. And she should have used for a guide the way she felt about her _own _past, like he'd just pointed out. But that had never been a useful tactic before, since nobody besides him had had anything remotely in common with her. She kept forgetting how similar the two of them were.

"If I'd have known it would bother you like this, I wouldn't have brought it in here," she said quietly. "I wasn't thinking. Okay?"

He took another drink, not meeting her eyes. "Get rid of it," he muttered.

She nodded, standing up. "I'll put it back."

"No," he said. "Throw it out."

"Sawyer," she said, sounding disappointed in him. "You don't really want to do that."

"Oh, so you're gonna tell me what I want to do? Seems like maybe you're not the best one to predict that, sweetheart, seein' as how you thought bringin' it in here would be a nice little surprise for me."

He still hadn't lost the edge of contempt in his voice. She was trying her best not to respond to it.

"_Throw it out_," he repeated, with emphasis.

In a calm voice, she attempted to reason with him. "You might regret it someday. You think you won't now, but eventually, you'll wish you still had it."

Setting the beer can on the counter, he walked over to her and firmly yanked the photograph out of her hand. Before she could even say anything, he'd ripped it in half, angrily.

Kate swallowed, fighting back tears. It was strangely painful to watch the destruction of that defiant little second-grader, even if _was _only a piece of paper.

After tearing it in half, he put the two halves together and ripped it yet again, and then methodically did the same with the resulting four pieces. She watched him mutilate it into ever smaller and smaller squares with a sad, guilty look on her face. He put the pieces in the sink, and then reached into his pocket, withdrawing a lighter. He flicked it a couple of times, but nothing happened. There was no flame. Frustrated, he kept trying.

As she watched him, she was struck by the eerie parallel between the expression on his face _now _and the expression on the face of the child in the picture. With a stab at her heart, she noticed for the first time how much he _did _look like a little boy. He'd made it to the age of thirty-five with only a few external changes. For all intents and purposes, he was still the eight-year-old from the photograph - insecure, tormented, and full of rage. She almost couldn't bear the sight of how strangely vulnerable he looked trying to get the lighter to work.

Wordlessly, she moved over to a drawer by the sink and took out a box of matches. She pulled one out and struck it against the side of the box, holding it out to him. He looked at her, finally meeting her eyes. The match started to burn down towards her fingers. "Take it," she urged.

Reaching out, he pinched the bottom of the wooden stick and quickly dropped it into the sink onto the shreds of paper lying there. One caught the flame, then transferred it to the rest. Swirls of smoke began to rise toward the ceiling.

After a minute or so, there was nothing left but ashy, almost transparent fragments of black paper. He turned on the faucet and washed the mess down the drain.

She waited until he finally turned back to her. They stared at each other for a few seconds, warily.

"I'm sorry," Kate said.

He turned away, leaning back against the counter, and looked out at the room. He still had a stormy expression, and she knew instinctively that he wasn't going to answer her. She could tell he just wanted her to get the hell out of his way, but she wasn't going to give in and let him brood.

Stepping in front of him, she put her arms around his neck, tightly, refusing to move until he showed some sign of responding. "I _said _I'm sorry," she whispered close to his ear.

He finally heaved a deep sigh, and she felt him relax a little bit. He brought his arms up around her, encircling her shoulders.

"Let's eat," he said, sounding tired.

She pulled back and looked at him, as if to check that he was _certain _he didn't want to talk about it. But his face made it blatantly obvious. She should have expected that.

"All right," she agreed, resigned to his way of dealing with emotional issues by _not _dealing with them.

She went to set the table.

* * *

When she woke up at about three in the morning, she knew almost instinctively that he wasn't in the bed, even before she opened her eyes. It just _felt _different, somehow. Reaching over to confirm her suspicions, her hand touched the blanket and then the pillow, but there was nothing else there.

She waited a few minutes, thinking he might just be in the bathroom, but deep down she didn't really believe that. Even while asleep, she must have had some awareness that he was absent, and that he'd been gone for awhile. That was what had awakened her - the sense that something was missing.

He'd been distant and withdrawn all evening, she reflected, even though she had to give him credit for trying to pretend that nothing had happened. He'd made an effort, at least. He hadn't sulked, something she was strangely proud of him for. But he wasn't a good enough actor to be able to seem completely natural, and ever since dinner she'd been burdened with guilt about taking the stupid picture out of the closet.

What the hell had she been thinking? It wasn't like she had the excuse that she couldn't understand where he was coming from. She knew all too well what it was like to be confronted with the ghosts of the past. Torturing herself with these and similar thoughts, she'd tried to make it up to him in bed, but even there, she could tell his mind wasn't really focused. And when Sawyer wasn't interested in sex, it was clear that there was a problem.

When it became obvious, after a few minutes, that he wasn't just in the bathroom, she slowly pulled herself up and felt around for the bathrobe. There was no chance of getting back to sleep. Although she was already dreading it, she needed to find him. She didn't know exactly where he was, but she knew, with almost one-hundred percent certainty, what he was doing.

She checked the kitchen first, but it was empty. As she was getting ready to try the living room, however, she noticed that the heavy inner door was wide open, leaving just the screen door as a barrier. There was a faint glow coming through it, which meant that the porch light was on, farther down near the corner of the house.

She approached the door tentatively and took a deep breath. Gently, quietly, she inched it open and stepped out, looking down to where she knew he'd be sitting, in the porch swing.

She waited a few seconds, but he didn't look up.

"Not really the best light for reading, is it?"

Finally, he pulled his eyes away from the worn, faded letter in his lap. Still not turning towards her, he looked instead out over the darkened valley. He didn't say anything, and she could tell he didn't want her there. But just because she could pick up on hints didn't mean she was obligated to follow them.

Wrapping her arms around herself in the chill of the early October air, she walked slowly to the swing and sat down next to him, following his gaze out toward the mountains. They sat there in silence for a few minutes.

Still looking out away from him, she spoke. "It was a really stupid thing to do. I was an idiot." A faint smile touched her lips. "And you know I wouldn't admit that to just anybody."

"This don't have nothin' to do with you, Freckles." He sounded weary.

She closed her eyes for a second. "Maybe not, _originally_. But we both know if I hadn't made you look at that picture, you wouldn't be out here right now, reading _that _thing." With these last words, she shot an angry glance toward the letter, as if was personally responsible for all his problems, rather than the incident that had inspired him to write it.

"Tell you the truth, I'm glad you found it. I feel better knowin' that it doesn't exist anymore."

She exhaled slowly, choosing not to respond to the patent absurdity of this remark. She had a feeling he was baiting her, and she wasn't going to let him turn this into a fight.

Waiting a few seconds, she watched his profile closely.

Finally, seeming to gather courage, she asked, almost in a whisper, "It wasn't him, was it?"

He seemed impatient. "_What_?"

"The man you killed."

Now he turned towards her, unnerved. "What the hell you talkin' about?"

"When we were playing that ridiculous game, on the island. _'I Never'," _she said, rolling her eyes slightly and enunciating the words as if to emphasize their silliness. "You said you'd killed a man. Or implied it, anyway." She shifted her position on the swing to get more comfortable, turning her entire body to face him.

"At first, I thought it must have been him. The guy you were looking for...the one you wrote the letter to. But now...I don't think so anymore." She looked at him steadily. "Because if you'd already done it, I don't think you'd still be reading that thing. I don't even think you'd still _have _it."

She waited, a little nervous about what kind of effect this would have on him, but also curious.

It was having _some _kind of impact, that was for sure. She could see it in his eyes. He looked almost trapped, the way he'd looked when she'd first revealed to him that she knew he'd written the letter himself. He attempted to shake himself out of it, turning back out to the yard with a faint contemptuous smile. "Don't think so, huh?"

"No."

"Don't be too sure about that." He paused. "You're right about one thing, though." Looking over at her sharply, he continued. "Wasn't him."

She nodded a little, as if she'd already known the truth.

"Will be, though. Just as soon as I find the son-of-a-bitch."

That was what she'd been afraid of.

"Then you're still planning on going through with it. Even now...after all this time."

"Of course I am. It ain't really the kinda thing you _outgrow_."

"But things _change_, Sawyer."

"Not _that _much, they don't."

"It's been almost thirty years," she went on. "You're telling me that in thirty years, you haven't found one good reason to let this go? There isn't a single thing in your life worth giving this up for?"

She was referencing, however indirectly, the two of them, and whatever the hell it was they had going on here. He knew what she was getting at.

"No offense, darlin', but this letter's been keepin' me company a lot longer than you have. I figure I owe it somethin', at least."

She was visibly hurt by the words. Her face clouded over, and she looked away quickly, not wanting him to see how easily he could wound her.

It wasn't possible for her to hide it, though, and he felt terrible. But that didn't make his words any less true.

Neither one said anything for a minute, letting the reverberations of this last remark die away.

Kate was the next to speak. She started out softly, contemplatively, almost as if she was thinking aloud. "What happens if you find him...and he's just like you?" She looked over at him. "What if he's just some screwed-up, miserable guy who can't stop thinking about what he did...about the lives he destroyed? What are you gonna do then? Are you still gonna kill him?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said simply, and she could tell he meant it.

"You think it'll change anything? That it'll make you feel any better? It won't." She smiled sadly. "Trust me," she whispered.

"Thanks for the advice, Puddin'...But I think I'll just wait and see for myself."

She was getting frustrated with him. "Okay, then... what if he's married? And he's got kids, or maybe even _grandkids _by now. You're gonna kill some kid's grandpa because of something that happened thirty years ago?"

He ignored her.

She continued, obviously upset. "Or what if he isn't married, but there's a woman. Someone who worries about him, and cares about him, and depends on him." She swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears. "And even though she knows that he's selfish and stubborn and doesn't really deserve her, still...Her heart would be broken if anything happened to him."

Her voice wavered dangerously on these last words, and he looked over at her, tortured, wondering who exactly they were talking about here. The look on her face didn't leave much room for debate.

"Then I guess maybe she shoulda been more careful about who she took up with." He said this pointedly, but softly, not trying to hurt her.

She nodded slightly, almost with bitterness. Glancing away, she brushed the sleeve of the bathrobe angrily across her eyes.

Speaking with control, but coldly, not really caring now if she hurt him, she asked, "You want to know what I think, Sawyer? I don't think you care whether you kill this guy or not. And the sad thing is, you don't even know it."

He looked at her, confused.

She went on. "I don't think he means anything at all to you. He's just an _idea_. He isn't even real. I'm sure he _was_, to begin with. When you still thought of him like a separate person. But that all changed the day you decided to start using his name...when you started living his life."

She could tell he wished she would stop, but she had no intention of doing that. Not until she'd said what she had to say.

"After that, it became almost like a habit. You keep looking for him, trying to kill him, but what you don't seem to realize is that it's not even _about _that anymore. You're way past the point where it could make any difference at all. Because I've seen the way you obsess about it...the way you torture yourself...even the way you let other people torture you, sometimes _literally _- for no reason at all. You never had Shannon's medicine, but you couldn't just say that, could you? Because the truth is..." She paused, and said quietly, "You don't want to make this guy suffer. You want to make _yourself _suffer."

He glared at her, disturbed and pissed off by the way she could hit so close to home. "You want to psychoanalyze me, sweetheart, maybe we oughtta go inside so I can lay down on the couch. Would that help you out any?"

Ignoring him, she continued. "The funny thing is, I didn't even realize it until now. But I don't even think you know which one of you is which anymore - which one's the victim, and which one's guilty. Or maybe," she said, as if the idea had just occurred to her, "you think you're even _more _guilty than he is. After all, he never killed anybody, did he? At least not directly. Can you say the same?"

His eyes were glittering and haunted, and she began to wish she hadn't gone quite so far. In a ragged voice, he said, "Think it's about time you went on back to bed."

"I will," she said. "But I want you to promise me...that you'll stop this - stop trying to find him. That you'll make some kind of effort to _let this go_." She watched him hopefully, almost desperately. "_Please_, Sawyer."

He waited a few seconds, seeming to consider, but then said sadly, "I can't make you that kinda promise, Freckles. Wish I could." And he looked as if he sincerely _did _wish it.

Unbearably disappointed, she tore her gaze away from his and stared at the ground. "Okay," she whispered. "I won't ask again."

Was that a reassurance? It sounded more like a threat. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be able to give her that promise and _mean _it, but he couldn't just lie to her. She'd see through it.

Standing up, she bent down to kiss him, briefly. He tried to hold her there longer, but she pulled away.

"Are you coming up?" she asked.

"Be there in a minute."

She started back down the porch resignedly. At the door, she paused to glance back at him. He was still watching her. She looked utterly defeated.

Pulling the screen door open, she stepped inside and closed it softly behind her.

He continued to stare at the space she'd occupied. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he turned his eyes back to the letter.


	20. Chapter 20

Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long since an update...four days - a record for me! But they'll probably be spaced further apart now that I'm working. Although I still hope to do at least two chapters a week. ;)

**Amethyst Prongs**: In answer to your question about Sawyer: His mother had an affair with a man named Sawyer who was really just using her in order to steal all their money (he was a "confidence man.") When Sawyer's (James') dad found out, he killed his wife, and then shot himself while sitting on James' bed (while James hid underneath it.) Later, when James was 19, he needed money, so he found a woman with a rich husband, slept with her, and stole their money, thus becoming a confidence man like the original Sawyer. Later, the guy who did scams with him sent him on a mission to kill the real Sawyer, something he'd always wanted to do. He shot the guy and gave him the letter, but then found out it was the wrong man - his accomplice had used him by sending him to kill a guy who owed him money. So, in effect, Sawyer shot an innocent man in cold blood. If you haven't seen the episode "Outlaws" yet, it'll all be explained much more clearly in that. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Things were strained for a few days after the photograph incident. The spell was broken, and the peaceful oblivion they had been existing in for almost a week was at an end. They'd been somewhat distant and short-tempered with each other since that night, a situation not helped by the fact that Sawyer had come down with a mild head cold, probably worsened by his decision to sit outside in the cool air without a shirt on reading the letter. The virus had made him uncommonly irritable and whiny, even more so than usual. (To the point, in fact, where Kate had finally shouted at him, "For God's sake, Sawyer, you have a _cold_, not leukemia! I think you're gonna pull through!")

In a sadder vein, both realized that there was a gap between them that could perhaps never be breached. The gap wasn't caused by what they _didn't _have in common, as in most troubled relationships, but rather by what they _did _have in common - their tortured pasts.

The chief difference, of course, was the way each dealt with that past. Kate ran from hers, fleeing not only the agents who were literally chasing her, but also doing her best to avoid thinking or speaking about her earlier life. Sawyer, on the other hand, refused to budge from his, wallowing in his pain and guilt until the idea of moving beyond it was practically unthinkable. Although they both were convinced that they knew what the other needed - she wanted him to get over it, he wanted her to open up and confront it head on - they both knew that they weren't likely to get their wishes anytime soon. Stubbornness was a quality they _did _share.

So when Kate opened her eyes that morning, she wasn't entirely surprised to find that Sawyer wasn't there. Although it was much earlier than his usual time for rising, she wouldn't have put it past him to clear out early just to make her feel bad. After all, she hadn't exactly been sympathetic about his "illness," but just the thought of his behavior made her annoyed with him again. Maybe, after all, some time alone was what they both needed.

Rolling over onto her left side, she noticed a piece of paper stuck to the edge of the nightstand with a rectangle of scotch tape. She squinted, trying to make out the words in the dim morning light filtering through the closed drapes, but it was too dark. Curious, she sat up. If he'd left a note, then he must not be in the house. Where could he have gone? She flipped on the bedside lamp, wincing at the sudden brightness and waiting for her eyes to adjust.

After a few seconds, she could make out in Sawyer's sloppy, careless handwriting the words, "_Be right back_."

Well, that was helpful. She rolled her eyes.

Scanning down the sheet, she noticed at the bottom, almost as an afterthought, the command "_Go back to sleep_."

In spite of herself, she couldn't prevent a smile. Who else besides him would leave a note like that?

Well, if he was coming right back, there was really no need to worry, she thought. And it _was _extremely early - the digital clock on his side of the bed read 7:45. She decided to take the advice of the note and lie back down.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep, though, she heard the kitchen door slam and a few minutes later his footsteps started up the stairs. She sighed, not opening her eyes yet. It figured.

Rolling lazily over to face the door, she watched him come in and peer down at her, trying to see if she was still sleeping.

She decided to enlighten him. "I'm awake." Stretching, she asked with a yawn. "How's your cold?"

"Was gone when I woke up this mornin'." He paused. "No thanks to _you_."

"Yeah, well...I'm sorry. I'm not great at the whole nurturing thing. I'm not used to taking care of anybody but myself."

"Maybe it's about time for that to change,"he said mysteriously.

"_What_? What does that mean?"

He looked at her closely, amused. "You even know what today _is_?"

She thought for a second, not understanding what he meant. "Friday?" she asked tentatively.

He shook his head and snorted a little. "Actually, it's Saturday, but that's not what I meant. I was talkin' about the _date_."

Now she was even more confused. "The _date_...?" She looked around, as if something in the room might help her out.

Exasperated, he said, "It's your goddamn _birthday_, Freckles! You completely forget about it?"

She sank back on the pillow, a little embarrassed. "Oh." She paused. "Like I said, I'm not used to celebrating it." Then, worried, she looked up at him. "We're not _going _to, are we?"

Instead of answering, he leaned down and kissed her - a long, lingering, tender kiss...the first one of its kind in three days. She closed her eyes and gave in to it.

When he finally pulled back, she murmured, "I guess that's a yes?" Despite her effort to sound annoyed, however, she couldn't help but be relieved that things were getting off on a better footing today. Maybe they would be all right, after all.

"Got somethin' downstairs for you," he said with a secretive grin.

"Sawyer..." she said warily. "What did you do?"

"Have to come and see for yourself."

Standing up, he unceremoniously yanked the covers off of her. Her legs were bare under the t-shirt she still wore to sleep in. She continued to watch him, hesitant, not moving.

"Not gonna have to carry you, am I?" he asked.

Sighing, she sat up and slowly pulled herself out of bed. "I'm _up_."

Then, just to be obnoxious, he lifted her up and carried her anyway, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As he headed downstairs, he kept one arm pinned over her legs to hold her in place while the other one...went exploring.

"Hey!" she called out sharply. "Watch the hands!" Then, through laughter and delighted yelps, "Sawyer, stop it!"

Finally, he bent over and planted her firmly in front of the closed door of the downstairs bathroom. He gestured toward it with raised eyebrows.

She looked at him, then at the door, then back at him. "In _there_?"

"Open it up," he suggested.

"I'm not sure I want to," she replied, smiling.

"You gonna drag this out all day, or what!"

"All _right_." Reaching for the doorknob, she looked back at him again anxiously. "It's not something..._kinky_, is it? Because I already told you I'm not into that stuff..."

"Would you just open the damn door!"

Giving him one last glance, she slowly pushed the door in a crack, and then swung it open wider. Gasping, she put her hand over her mouth.

In front of the sink, lying on a blanket, was an approximately 8-week-old German Shepherd puppy. It raised its head up and regarded them curiously.

Turning back to Sawyer in shock, she asked, as if she needed confirmation, "It's a dog?"

Now that she'd actually seen the thing, he seemed a little embarrassed. "It's a guard dog," he muttered. "Least it will be, when it gets big." He looked down at his feet, awkwardly. "To help protect you...when I'm not here."

She watched him for a few seconds, feeling something go to pieces inside of her. Swallowing hard, she kneeled down so that he wouldn't see her tears. She began messing with the puppy. It yawned and started biting lazily at her hands. Although she knew her quietness would tip him off, she couldn't help it. She was afraid if she tried to say anything, she would lose it.

Wordlessly, he kneeled down behind her, tentatively stroking her hair, and then drew her backward into his embrace. With his arms wrapped around her tightly from behind, he kissed her temple. She turned into him, burrowing against his neck. They sat in this position for a few minutes without moving or speaking. The puppy, sensing it was being ignored and perhaps offended, went back to sleep.

Finally, she whispered, "Thank you."

A slightly worried look clouded her features. "How long..." she began falteringly. "How long does it take for a dog like that...to be full-grown?"

"Don't know," he said, softly. "'Bout a year, I guess."

Pulling back, she looked at him with seriousness. She didn't really want to say this, but she felt like she needed to.

"Sawyer... A lot can happen in a year." She paused, and continued sadly. "A year from now...Who knows? I might..." She stopped, trying to make herself force out the words. "I might be..."

"Yeah, well.." he interrupted her. "Suppose we'll just have to take our chances then, huh?" He didn't want her to finish the sentence, either.

She gave him a sad smile. "Okay," she answered gratefully.

Then, in an effort to avoid any more tears, she turned to a lighter subject. "Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked, glancing at the puppy.

"Boy." He added, "They're cheaper."

Now she gave him a genuine smile, amused as always by his tendency to tell her how much things cost.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"How 'bout...Jack?" He looked at her slyly.

"_No_," she replied firmly, still smiling.

"All right, then, _you _pick a name."

She looked at the puppy thoughtfully. "I've never had a dog. My best friend did, though...growing up." She turned back to Sawyer, almost sheepishly. "Its name was Gus."

He threw up his hands and let them fall onto his legs in a gesture of acceptance. "Looks like a Gus to me."

They smiled, looking into each others' eyes intently, as if they were sharing some kind of secret.

"Happy Birthday," Sawyer said quietly.

Biting her lip, she nodded slightly, thanking him without words.

He went on. "Hope you don't think that's all, though. The day is young. I got lots more up my sleeve."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, exaggerated dread playing across her face.

Suddenly, as if he was obeying some unheard signal, the puppy opened its eyes, stood up, waddled a few paces, squatted, and peed. Then, it returned to the blanket and flopped back down.

Kate watched the gradually spreading puddle wearily, then turned to Sawyer, a question in her eyes.

"It's _your _dog," he said, grinning at her.

* * *

The remainder of the morning was spent in cleaning up similar puddles and piles, as well as in rescuing shoes, furniture, and electrical cords from the puppy's teeth. Sawyer finally gave in and helped, at least a little, because he could tell Kate was dangerously on the verge of getting pissed off at him. Neither one knew much about caring for a dog, but they'd had no idea it would be so exhausting. When the puppy took a nap, they were relieved and tried their best to stay quiet so he wouldn't wake up; then, when he woke up, they followed him around nervously like new parents with a toddler who's just started walking. When he finally caught on and learned how to use the newspapers that had been laid down for him, they were as proud as if he'd won a dog show.

Besides the puppy, Sawyer had a few other surprises as well. After lunch, he dropped a pile of slick, shiny catalogs onto the table in front of her.

She looked up at him, confused.

"Pick out your own damn clothes," he said.

"Did you get these from a mall?"

"Yep."

"I can't imagine you in a _mall_," she said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't do it for just anybody," he replied with sarcasm. "I'd rather be on the island than in _The Gap_."

She smiled. "What's my spending limit?"

"Just order what you need. And do me a favor and don't tell me how much it costs."

"You know...it would be a lot quicker to call in the order instead of mailing it," she hinted.

"I'm one step ahead of you, smartass. Already went by the phone company, had the thing turned back on. Should start workin' sometime today. Happy now?"

"You'll be glad you did it..it's ridiculous not to have a phone."

"Don't know what difference it'll make to you...you're not gonna be answerin' it when it rings. Got that? It'll be too suspicious if anybody catches on I got someone stayin' here with me."

"I _know that_," she said, rolling her eyes. "I wasn't planning to."

"Good."

"So maybe next time you should ask first before you just start yelling at me."

"I wasn't yelling," he said with scorn.

They stared at each other combatively for a few seconds, and Kate felt something stirring inside her. It had been a few days, after all.

"The puppy's asleep," she whispered.

"So?"

"So...You wanna go upstairs?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Less than a minute later, they were rolling around on Sawyer's bed, frantically trying to undress through a haze of kisses and heavy breathing. Unhooking her bra, he flung it to the side and brought his lips to her breasts. She straddled him and then was surprised when nothing happened. They both looked down, confused, and Kate realized she'd forgotten to remove her underwear.

"Oh," she said with a giggle.

Leaning over to engulf him with more kisses, she hooked her fingers in the sides of the elastic and pulled them off. As they were getting ready to try again, however, she stopped abruptly.

"What was that?"

"What?" he said impatiently, grasping her hips and trying to lower her back down onto him. But she'd gone rigid, listening.

"You don't hear that?"

Then he heard it too. A low, plaintive, mournful howling. They looked at each other.

"You gotta be kidding me," Sawyer said.

She sighed heavily, letting her head fall onto his chest. "He's scared...he probably thinks he's all alone."

"He'll go back to sleep! He's a dog, for Chrissakes!"

They continued to listen for a second. Each howl trailed off into a warbling whimper. Kate finally stood up, pulling her clothes back on. "That's the saddest sound I've ever heard, Sawyer."

"What the hell am I supposed to do with _this_?" he asked angrily.

"Just _wait_," she said, laughing. "I'll be back in a minute."

But she wasn't. After a while, he gave up on waiting. It was too late now, anyway. They'd have to start all over. Pissed off, he got dressed and went to look for her.

She was sitting in the living room, on the couch. When he came in, she raised a finger quickly to her lips, warning him to be quiet. The puppy was lying on his back, his four legs sticking comically up in the air, his head on her lap. While she rubbed his belly, his eyes became heavy and started to close.

Kate looked at Sawyer questioningly, as if to ask, _Have you ever seen anything this cute in your life_?

Well, he hadn't, but _still_...

"Nice to see _someone's _gettin' some action," he whispered bitingly.

She rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to the dog.

Irritated, he went outside to make sure all the phone lines were still hooked up so that it would work when they turned the service back on. He was beginning to think he should have thought about the implications of this present a little more thoroughly.

* * *

A few hours later, Kate was sitting on the kitchen counter, marking pages in one of the catalogs and waiting for the water to boil on the stove next to her. She glanced into the pot again and sighed. Not even any bubbles yet. Everything in here was ancient and took forever to work.

Sawyer came in from the hall and started washing his hands at the sink. "You wouldn't think a little thing like that could poop so many times in one day."

Without taking her eyes away from the page she was studying, she smiled. "It was your idea," she replied in a taunting, sing-song voice.

"Yeah," he said, looking annoyed. "And I'm sure you'll remind me of that every day."

Noticing the pot on the stove, he flipped the switch off. "Just what the hell you think you're doin'?"

Now she glanced up, looking at him like he was crazy. "I'm making pasta."

"Not on your birthday, you're not."

"Sawyer..." she said, looking touched.

"Figured we'd order somethin', have it delivered. Once the damn phone starts workin', that is."

"There are actually restaurants that'll deliver out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"How you think I survived before you came along?" With his hands on either side of her, he leaned forward and kissed her, pulling back teasingly just as she started to get into it.

"You remember what happened the last time you were sittin' up here?" he asked with a wink.

She pretended to think about it. "I remember drinking too much whiskey... But everything after that is a blur."

He looked truly hurt, and she had to laugh. "I'm just _kidding_, Sawyer. Of course I remember it."

"You _better_," he said, sulking a little. For payback, he bent down and nipped at her neck, so hard that it actually stung a little. She wasn't complaining, though. Wrapping her legs around him, she let him continue for a second and then pulled his head back up to hers, kissing him deeply. His hands slid up underneath her shirt, and, her body betraying her, she began to move in a slow, undulating rhythm against him, even though both were still fully dressed. Unfastening her jeans, she raised up a little so that he could help her slide them off.

Suddenly, Kate's head snapped back against the cabinet door and Sawyer bit his own lip, hard, both of them startled.

Just to the right of Kate's head on the wall, the phone had started ringing.

"This is _not happening_," she muttered.

He moved toward it and she grabbed his arm. "Don't answer it!"

"I can't just let it ring!"

"Why not? You haven't even had phone service for months...are you really worried about missing _one _call?"

They stared at each other as the loud, shrill ringing kept up, almost seeming to grow louder every few seconds, although that was impossible.

Finally, Sawyer couldn't stand it anymore. He picked up the receiver. "Hello!" he said, more in the tone of a demand than a greeting.

She watched him close his eyes in annoyance. "Yeah..it was disconnected." He paused. "Because maybe I didn't wanna _take _your damn call!"

Kate sighed loudly, trying to urge him to hurry up. Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece, he whispered. "It's my Aunt Meg. I gotta talk to her...If I don't she might drive up here and hunt me down. She's one crazy bitch." He said this last almost proudly, and Kate thought she could sense that maybe he actually had some fondness for this aunt.

"Can't you tell her to call back?" she almost whined.

"What?" Sawyer asked, uncovering the mouthpiece and turning away from her. "I never borrowed your snowmobile...what the hell are you talkin' about!

Frustrated, Kate hopped down from the counter and headed for the door.

"Where you goin?" Sawyer hissed at her.

"To take a shower," she said accusingly. "Preferably a _cold _one."

He looked regretful, but then was distracted again. "Yeah...I'm here," he said into the phone.

Then, as she walked up the stairs, she had to smile as she heard him shout, "You're losin' your goddamn mind, Aunt Meg...I don't even _like _Barry Manilow!"

* * *

After they'd had a pizza delivered later in the evening and eaten as much as they wanted, Kate suggested they walk down to the lake with the puppy.

Sawyer, however, had other plans, which he remembered as he glanced at the clock. And the dog didn't fit into them.

"He'll be fine here. Probably won't even wake up while we're gone...He's out for the night," he tried to convince her.

"Where are we going?" she asked, mystified.

"Can't tell you that," he answered with a gleam in his eye.

"Well, at least tell me if I'm _dressed _appropriately." She looked sardonically down at the dress she'd changed into after her shower.

"Freckles, unless you're gettin' in a time machine, you ain't ever dressed appropriately when you're wearin' that thing." He grinned at her. "Don't matter though...We're not gonna be attractin' a lot of attention where we're going."

"And where might that be?"

"Not gonna get it out of me that easily." He kissed her forehead. "Get your shoes on."

After they'd checked to see that the puppy was soundly sleeping on the blanket in the bathroom, they went onto the porch. Sawyer locked the door behind them, then he took her arm and guided her out to the truck.

After he'd had a mechanic look at both vehicles when they were out of commission simultaneously, he'd discovered that since the transmission was out in the car, the truck would actually be cheaper to fix. It had pained him to let someone else do it, because he'd always enjoyed tinkering around with it himself. But he was too cheap to get both automobiles fixed, so he'd ultimately decided on the truck. Besides, it had good memories associated with it. If it wasn't for the damn thing starting at just the right moment, he might never have found Kate and brought her back.

He opened the passenger side door and waited for her to get in. She looked at him nervously.

"Are you sure about this? It just doesn't seem safe."

"We're not goin' far. It'll be fine."

Looking at him for a few seconds longer, she tried to accept his reassurance. She sighed and climbed up into the seat. "I hope you're right."

He got in on the other side, started the truck and backed up, then pulled around and headed down the driveway. When he got to the road, he turned right.

Kate was worried and unusually quiet. There were too many things that could go wrong with this situation. The possibilities flashed through her mind... there could be an accident...the truck could break down again...they could get pulled over by a cop...somebody could spot her and recognize her... She couldn't stop thinking about it. Other than the night she'd gone to the truck stop, out of her mind with guilt and despair, this was the first time she'd left Sawyer's property. She hadn't realized until now how safe she'd come to feel there. The farther the truck traveled from his driveway, the more tense she became.

As they passed by Greg's cabin, dark and empty now that he'd gone to visit his uncle, she was momentarily distracted. She peered closely out the window at what appeared to be a broken-down carousel... missing its horses? _What the_ _hell_? She turned to Sawyer, confused.

"Greg doesn't work for a carnival, by any chance, does he?"

"No," Sawyer answered with amused scorn. "Why?" He glanced at her.

"Never mind," she said, sounding disturbed. "Just keep driving."

A minute or so later, he took a sharp left turn and started heading up an incline. The road hugged the side of the mountain, and at times it became almost vertical. The truck bumped along, slowly now, taking each curve carefully as the drop that spread out below them continued to become steeper and steeper.

Eventually, the road became nothing but gravel, then, after that, just a dirt track with grass growing up the middle. Still they continued to climb. Kate braced one arm against the door and one against the back of the seat to keep from hitting the ceiling as they bounced through the deep ruts.

"Are you sure you know where you're going? Because I don't think this is a real road, Sawyer."

He smiled, not answering her.

He finally stopped against a pile of dead trees. "End of the line," he said, turning to her. "Have to walk from here. It's not far."

"How do you know there's nobody out there?" she asked cautiously, not really wanting to get out.

"There's not. Trust me. I'm probably one of the only people left who still comes up here."

"I can see why," she muttered as he got out and came around to her door. Pushing it open, she climbed out and let him lead her onto a narrow path that she hadn't even noticed. They walked into a wooded area, Sawyer lighting the way ahead with a flashlight. She noticed he was also carrying a blanket that he must have grabbed from the back of the truck.

After a few minutes of walking, the woods opened up onto a rocky outcropping. He stepped down onto a ledge and turned back to help her down. Finally raising her head and looking out, she drew in her breath sharply.

The lake was visible off in the distance, shimmering in the moonlight. And then what looked like another lake, and a river, beyond that. In the opposite direction, on the other side of heavy woods and lower foothills and mountains, was a cluster of lights.

"Is that the town?" she whispered. "It looks so tiny from here."

"It _is _tiny," he said. "Five thousand people. But it looks even smaller from up here."

He lifted the flashlight up and glanced at his watch, the third time he'd done so since they'd gotten in the truck.

"What do you keep doing that for?" she asked curiously. "You have an appointment somewhere?"

He sat down on a boulder that formed a sort of natural bench. "Have a seat," he said, holding his arm out.

She sat beside him, shivering in the thin dress. The air was much cooler up here. She huddled against him, as close as she could get. Reaching behind her, he draped the blanket around her shoulders and then pulled her close.

"So _that's _what the blanket's for," she said with a smile. "Good thing you thought ahead."

"I didn't, actually. It's the blanket I brought the dog home in...just remembered it was in there. You smell anything funny, you'll know why."

She peered back and looked at him closely, trying to tell whether he was joking or not. She thought he was.

Trying to hide a smile, he looked at his watch again.

"You're starting to freak me out a little." she told him.

"Just waitin' on the rest of your birthday present, is all."

She sighed, giving up on getting any information out of him. It would be simpler to just wait and see what this was all about. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling a little sleepy. It had been a long day. And they'd _still _never managed to finish what they kept starting.

Suddenly, a deafening boom made her jump. She raised her head up, and saw, straight out in front of them and directly over the lights of the town, a shower of bright blue sparks. The boom was quickly followed by a second one, this one fanning out into two star-shaped white explosions.

_Fireworks_.

She looked at Sawyer, amazed, not even able to speak for a second. "How did you _do _that?"

"What?" he asked, grinning. "You don't think you're worth it?"

She continued to stare at him in shock.

He ducked his head, looking a little sheepish. "Just so happens that your birthday falls on the same day as the town's _bicentennial_." The last words were spoken almost scornfully, as if the notion of a civic celebration was something he couldn't really fathom. "I saw a flyer downtown this mornin' about a fireworks display tonight..figured we'd be able to see it from here."

A slow smile spread across her face in wonder. "You're really putting your bad-ass reputation in danger...You know that, right?"

"Yeah, well...give me a few days. I'm sure I'll do somethin' stupid enough to make you forget all about this."

She nodded, almost laughing. That was probably true.

They both turned their eyes back to the town, watching after each boom the brilliant colors rise, sputter and crackle to their maximum glory, then slowly fizzle out into the gathering smoke.

"It feels so strange to be watching fireworks in October," Kate said quietly. "I don't think I've seen a big display like this since I was a kid. Me and my best friend used to sneak into the one they had downtown on the Fourth of July."

"Same one who had the dog?" Sawyer asked.

"Yeah."

"What was her name?"

She didn't answer for a second. "It wasn't a girl." Her face registering reluctance, she said quietly, "His name was Tom."

Noticing her hesitation, but misinterpreting the reason, he asked, "You two have some sort of fallin' out? One of those after-school-special type things?"

"No," she said, looking out at the fireworks. "Not exactly."

"So how come you don't keep in touch with him now?"

He saw the pain flare up in her eyes immediately, and she bit her lip to try to keep herself from giving into it. Looking directly at him, she took a deep breath and then said simply, "He's dead."

He watched her closely as she turned her gaze back out onto the view. "Sorry to hear that," he said, intrigued. "What happened?" He knew he shouldn't ask her, and that she probably wouldn't tell him, but he had to try.

She closed her eyes for a second. "Not tonight," she said wearily.

"I've heard that one before, sweetheart. Seems like it's _never _the right night, is it?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Now she was looking down over the lake, tormented, not paying attention to the fireworks anymore.

He felt terrible. It was her damn birthday, after all. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

"Don't worry about it," he muttered. "Guess I shouldn't talk, huh? Ain't exactly like I let you have what you wanted the other night, either." He paused. "Wish things were different. Wish I could give you more." More of _himself_, was what he meant. She knew that, instinctively, because she felt the same way.

Looking back up at him, she smiled sadly. "I'll take what I can get."

He looked deep into her eyes, feeling like he was falling into them. "Yeah...me too."

And for now, that would have to be enough. At least for tonight, it _felt _like enough.

Sliding off the boulder, Sawyer moved down to the ground near Kate's feet. She watched him curiously. He lifted her ankle and started delicately kissing the inside of it, after a few seconds moving over to the other one.

"What are you doing?" she asked, almost laughing. It tickled, but it also felt unbelievably good.

Slowly, his kisses moved further up her calves, lavishing attention on the inside of each one. Her heart rate began to speed up a tiny bit, and it kept climbing as he reached her knees.

"Sawyer..." she said warningly, but weakly. "Not _here_."

He smiled slyly at her. "Why not?"

"There might be someone around."

He'd now moved a little past her knees to the spot just above them on the insides of her legs, still alternating from one to the other. She swallowed, trying her best to hold still.

"You're the birthday girl...you wanna leave, just say the word." He was now midway between her knees and her waist, folding the dress back as he progressed.

Her breathing becoming shaky, she whispered, as if she was thinking out loud, "On the other hand, I've always believed that it's rude to refuse a gift."

"Damn right it is," he said with a smile. Winking at her, he pulled the bottom of the dress over his head.

Moaning softly, she collapsed back onto the boulder, closing her eyes. The fireworks display had ended, but Kate didn't notice at all.

She was focused on a completely different kind of explosion.


	21. Chapter 21

Thank you for reviewing, everyone! I'm not sure if we've reached the mid-point yet, but I thank you again for sticking with it.

**DemonQueen666: **Yes, Kate is a Gemini...I _knew _at least one person would notice that. Lol. I cheated and moved her birthday to October because I really wanted to set the story in the fall for some reason...I liked the idea of it getting colder outside as they "nest". But other than that, I've tried to be faithful to all the little factual details of the characters. ;)

These next few chapters will be a kind of bridge to the next "turning-point", so this one's kind of short.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

It was only ten in the morning, but Kate already had her suspicions about how this day was going to go. It wouldn't be hard to predict even _without _evidence, knowing him the way she now did. But there had already been hints. For instance, when she'd gotten up at 9:30 and rummaged around under his side of the bed to find her shoes, he'd sighed and rolled over in a huff - the kind of reaction that was meant to convey that she'd woke him up and should feel guilty about it. She shook her head and tried not to say something rude.

Then, when she was drinking coffee and looking through the last of the catalogs, she'd heard, drifting down from the upstairs bathroom just over her head, a loudly muttered "_Son-of-a-bitch_!" Probably it was nothing but a minor irritation - he'd had to roll up the toothpaste tube to get anything out, or he'd had to replace a roll of toilet paper - something like that. But it only confirmed her expectations about what kind of mood he was going to be in this morning. Yesterday he'd been so uncommonly chivalrous for her birthday that she'd almost been in awe. Today, of course, he would have to make up for that slip by reverting to form. She almost smiled. He was so predictable.

Deciding to take advantage of the situation in order to do something she'd been meaning to get done for awhile, she began preparations. _Might as well get it over with when he's already in a bad mood, instead of spoiling a good one_, she thought. When Sawyer finally appeared in the kitchen doorway, she was ready with scissors, a towel, a comb, and a bowl of water. He stopped, looking at each of the objects in turn, and then back up at her.

"What the hell you think you're gonna do with that?"

"You might not have noticed, but we're not living on the island anymore, Sawyer. There's no excuse for looking like a caveman. You've needed a haircut for weeks now...I don't even know how you can stand it like that."

"I got it cut at the airport, when I first got back."

"You _did not_!" she said, laughing.

"All right, so maybe I decided that I _like _it long," he replied, annoyed that he couldn't fool her.

"That's fine. But there's _long_, and then there's _Michael Bolton-long_. And you're pressing the limits, pal." She pointed to the chair she'd pulled out for him. "Sit," she said firmly.

It was the Michael Bolton thing that got him, as she'd known it would. He collapsed into the chair with an angry sigh. She positioned the towel around him.

"You mind hurryin' this up?"

"Why? You have big plans for today?"

"I _might_," he snapped.

She shook her head slowly, wetting the comb. "I should have known you would do this. You think it's possible you have some kind of male version of PMS?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You were so sweet and considerate yesterday...everything you did for me...all the presents, and that fireworks display... And then you sleep for a few hours, and it's like none of it even happened."

"Yeah, well...birthdays only come once a year," he muttered.

"Lucky for you," she said, running the comb through his hair. "Otherwise you might have to act like a human being more often."

He rolled his eyes slightly. "What can I say, Freckles? I guess I'm just not a morning person."

"That's an understatement," she said with laugh, bending down to his level to see if she'd gotten his hair parted straight. Their eyes met, and his expression softened a little. He looked like he was trying not to smile.

After a few seconds, he glanced over at the catalogs. "You get your stuff ordered?"

"Not yet. I haven't made my final decisions." She made her first tentative snip.

"Marked some pages for you in the lingerie section," he said with a wink.

"I noticed that," she said dryly. "Thanks for the advice."

"Hey, I'm payin' for the damn stuff...I should at least have a vote in the underwear selection."

"That's true," she agreed. "It's not every guy that would let his girlfriend buy an entire wardrobe all at once."

"His _what_?" Sawyer asked, a sly smile spreading over his face.

Blushing almost immediately, Kate pretended she needed to wet the comb again. She avoided his eyes, looking down into the bowl with a tight, embarrassed smile. He watched her, enjoying her discomfort.

Finally, she glanced up at him. "Whatever you want to call it."

He continued to stare at her, amused. Circling around behind him where he couldn't see her, she took a few more decisive snips of his hair, not really bothering to be careful this time.

"And what if I don't wanna call it anything?" he asked in lazy drawl.

"Fine," she replied, trying to sound casual. "It makes no difference to me."

"Is that so?"

"As a matter of fact, it _is_. I'm not one of those girls who's gonna try to make you _define it_, or ask you _where it's going_, or _where things stand_. I couldn't care less about any of that. I try to avoid thinking about the future, anyway." She shrugged nonchalantly. "As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't exist."

He was quiet for a second. He couldn't decide whether she was telling the truth, or whether this was some sort of reverse-psychology shit designed to entrap him in the exact conversation she'd just claimed she didn't want to have. And of the two, which was the more disturbing possibility? If she was really serious about what she'd said, then he'd be a little hurt, much to his surprise. And if she wasn't...then was she just messing with him?

"Besides," she went on when he didn't respond. "If anyone had told me after we first met that I'd end up sleeping with you, I would have laughed in their face. So it's probably best if we don't examine things too closely."

"Oh, _please_," he said sarcastically. "You really think you were foolin' anyone? Everyone on the damn island knew you wanted me. Heard people whisperin' about it all the time."

"_What_? That is complete bullshit!"

Then she noticed he was joking.

"You'd better watch it, Sawyer...I'm the one with the scissors here, remember?"

He looked at the floor, grinning. "All right, maybe not everyone noticed, but I sure as hell did. You musta thought you were bein' all coy about it...but you really think it was a coincidence that no matter where I happened to be, you'd pop up outta nowhere?"

"I _thought _maybe you could use a friend, considering how much everybody else hated you. Hold still," she added, cutting more from the back.

"A friend, huh? Then what was that kiss all about, then?"

"That was different. I was just trying to do the right thing," she answered defensively.

"The _right thing_," he repeated with scorn. "You always use your tongue when you do the right thing?"

She paused, sighing. "Is there any way we could do this with you not talking?"

"Doesn't seem likely, does it?" He looked up at her. "But if you're not up for it, I'll be happy to come back another time..." He started to rise from the chair, but she pushed him back down.

"No. It's too late now, I have to finish it."

He gritted his teeth in impatience. "How much longer?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she said, exasperated. "If you would just shut up and hold still I could do this a lot faster."

For a minute or so he made an attempt to do this, but then began squirming again. When he jerked his head slightly to the left, the scissors snagged a tiny nick at the top of his ear. Hissing in outraged pain, he raised his hand up to it almost before she had time to withdraw the scissors.

"God_damn_ it, Kate!" he bellowed.

She tried to pull his hand away, concerned. "Let me see it."

She examined the tiny cut for a second and then rolled her eyes. "It's not even _bleeding_, Sawyer...it's the size of a paper cut. Would you mind not giving me a heart attack next time?"

He stood up, glaring at her.

"Where are you going?"

"To get some ice." He opened the freezer and looked back at her. "You gotta problem with that?"

She tried her best not to make fun of him for being such a baby. "Go right ahead."

When he'd wrapped a few ice cubes in a dishcloth, he sat back down, holding the bundle to his ear. They stared at each other wordlessly for a few seconds.

Leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Kate said thoughtfully, "Have you noticed that you never call me Kate unless you're yelling at me?"

"That isn't true," he said with contempt.

"Yes,_ it is_!" she insisted. "You _never _say my actual name unless you're pissed off about something!"

"You're just makin' shit up to get a reaction outta me."

"Okay, then. If it's not true, then go ahead and try it. Say something nice using the name 'Kate'."

"Tell you the truth, I don't really _feel _like sayin' anything nice about you right now." He continued to glare at her.

"You see?" she asked, laughing. "You can't do it." She paused, narrowing her eyes and regarding him like a lab specimen. "And I think I know why."

"Oh, _this _oughtta be good."

"It's a distancing mechanism," she announced, enunciating the words proudly.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a way for you to keep me at a distance, emotionally. Because using my actual name would seem too intimate, so...you use all those nicknames instead."

He looked at her, a little unnerved. The best thing to do in this situation was to turn the tables on her, he decided.

"You wanna talk about _distancing _people, sweetheart, then maybe I'm not the one we should be analyzin' here. Unless maybe you think me not knowin' a damn thing about your past somehow makes us _closer_."

She smiled very slightly and looked down at the table, conceding the point. She'd let that one get out of her hands.

"Yeah, well..." she said in a resigned tone. "I guess that's the reason we're together." She looked up quickly. "Or whatever you want to call it," she repeated for the second time that day.

They sat there quietly for a minute. The truth was that they'd both realized a sad fact. Despite being physically intimate, they were really no closer now than they had been on the island. Even while living at such close quarters and having no sexual barriers, they were still unable to have any kind of meaningful, heartfelt conversation while they both felt the need to hold so much back. They could flirt, and argue, and discuss unimportant trivia, but the core issues were still off-limits.

And the most depressing thing was that maybe it would always be that way. If they hadn't progressed any further than this in all their time together in this house, then what more would it take? Were they destined to always share a deep connection that they were incapable of talking about, even with each other? After all, they said more with their eyes than they ever did with words. Wasn't there something unnatural about that?

"Can I finish this now?" she finally asked. "Or are you still in too much _pain_?"

He lowered the ice pack, staring at her witheringly. "Just hurry up."

She resumed her clipping, now nearing his bangs.

In an attempt to change the subject, Kate asked casually, "So...your aunt who called yesterday...Is she the one you lived with as a kid? After...everything happened?"

"Sometimes," he said in a low voice.

"Sometimes?" she asked, confused.

"Sometimes I stayed with her and my uncle, sometimes I stayed with other people. I got shipped around a lot. Nobody wanted me for long."

She smoothed the hair down in the front to get it even. "That must have been terrible," she said softly.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me," he muttered.

"No, you do that job just fine on your own," she replied under her breath. Then she paused, closing her eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head a little. "Exactly who's the one with the PMS, again?"

She smiled. "Well, at least I can actually get away with using that excuse. _You _can't."

She snipped from the right side of his bangs. He seemed to be trying to remember something that wouldn't quite come to him. Then, he had it.

"Where's the dog?" he asked, glancing around.

"Outside," Kate said distractedly, trying to even out the ends of what she'd just cut.

He jerked back, startled. "_What_!"

"Damn it, Sawyer! Do you want to lose an eye?"

"What do you mean, _outside_?"

"He wanted to go out...He went to the door and scratched. So I let him out," she said, as if this was really too obvious to need a detailed explanation.

Sawyer continued to stare at her blankly, in shock.

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" she asked.

"He doesn't have _a collar_...or _a leash_. The yard isn't fenced, and he doesn't know where he is..." He trailed off, looking at her like she was retarded.

She sighed. "I told you I've never had a dog before. I don't know what you're getting so upset about, he's probably right outside."

Without answering, Sawyer angrily unlocked the back door and went out, leaving it open. He circled around the house and came back in.

"Not a trace," he said, pulling open the screen door.

"I'll come and help you look," she said, stepping onto the porch.

He didn't try to stop her, even though it was broad daylight outside. It _was _her fault, after all.

They checked all around the house, the shed, the woods, the path to the lake, underneath the car and truck...but with no luck at all. It was like he'd disappeared into thin air.

"Seventy-five dollars," Sawyer muttered bitterly.

Kate looked at him, confused, a question in her eyes.

"That's how much he cost," he explained. "Seventy-five dollars, down the drain."

She looked absolutely disgusted. "That's what you're worried about right now? The _money_?"

"_You _didn't pay for it," he replied.

"I can't believe you," she said, shaking her head.

They continued to search for a few minutes.

"Try calling 'Gus'," Kate suggested. "I don't want to take a chance on anyone hearing my voice, but you can do it."

He hesitated, seeming embarrassed. "He doesn't know his _name_. He just got it yesterday."

"Oh my God," she said in wonder.

"_What_?" he said defensively.

"You can't even call _the dog _by its real name! What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Oh, you want to try to blame this on _me_? Who's the one that was stupid enough to let an eight-week-old pup outside in the middle of nowhere?"

Now she looked truly hurt. "You're right. It's my fault." She turned away from him.

He immediately felt terrible. "Look," he said, exhaling deeply. "I'll drive up the road a ways...He most likely took off in the direction I brought him from. Don't dogs have some kinda radar or somethin' like that to find their way home? Maybe he just missed his mom."

She nodded slowly.

Walking up behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. She leaned back against him a little and looked up at the house.

"If we can't find him, I'll get you another one," he said sullenly.

She smiled a little. "I don't want another one."

Suddenly, almost as if in response to her words, a woman's forceful voice rang out, startling them both.

"You lose something, James?"

They turned toward the sound, Kate immediately fighting the urge to run. Walking toward them, with the puppy slung under one arm, was a large, boxy woman with gray hair and stern, no-nonsense facial features. She moved like a drill sergeant. "Found this up by the road, tryin' to hitch a ride."

Sawyer put his hand on the back of Kate's elbow, steadying her, and whispered with dread, "_It's my goddamn aunt_."

Kate swallowed nervously. How did this keep happening despite all their precautions?

"Well?" the woman demanded as she approached them. "Yes or no?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said curtly, taking the dog. "Thanks." He paused. "Can I ask what brings you here, Aunt Meg?" He tried not to sound annoyed or alarmed.

"Got a delivery in Memphis tomorrow...I told you on the phone yesterday I was gonna stop by, return those Manilow albums."

"_And I told you they weren't mine_," he said with his teeth clenched.

"Oh," she said, completely unfazed. "Well, you might as well have 'em..Personally, I can't stomach the goon. There's nothing sadder than an ugly man singin' about love." She continued. "Parked my rig out in the road by your driveway...the bastards can just drive around it." She looked at Sawyer more closely. "What the hell's wrong with your hair, boy?"

"I was in the middle of a haircut...It ain't finished yet," he explained in defense.

"I should think not," she agreed, rasing her eyebrows.

Now she turned her attention to Kate, scrutinizing her. "Who's this?" she asked without ceremony.

"This is my, uh...my..." he faltered, not knowing what to say.

"His _girlfriend_," Kate supplied, offering her hand and casting a sideways glance at Sawyer, enjoying his discomfort with the term despite her precarious situation. "Sally," she added.

Greg already thought she was Sally, so she might as well make use of the name again.

"Sally, huh?" the woman said. She examined her shrewdly for a few seconds. "You look more like a _Kate _to me."

Kate and Sawyer glanced at each other quickly, in shock.

"At least that's what the FBI seems to think," she went on, almost to herself. "Christ almighty, look at that face." She grasped Kate's chin in her hand and angled her face up, smooshing her cheeks slightly. "If I'd 'a had a face like that, I probably coulda gotten away with murder, too." She shook her head, making a clucking noise with her tongue.

Then she shot an accusing glance over at Sawyer. "What the hell you got her out here in the yard for, dumbass? You just waitin' for someone to walk up and recognize her? I swear..." she muttered in exasperation. "Back in the house," she said firmly, pushing Kate in the direction of the kitchen door. "Go on...Scoot!"

Kate started walking, casting a helpless look back over her shoulder at Sawyer. When this woman said scoot, there seemed to be nothing to do but scoot.

Aunt Meg turned back to Sawyer too, looking disgusted with him. "_Men_," she spat.

Sawyer watched the two of them go inside, feeling miserable. Then he was distracted by a warm, spreading wetness on his shirt. He looked down at the dog.

Gus wagged his tail slightly, perhaps in apology.


	22. Chapter 22

**BabyKatFelton: **We found out Kate was a Gemini in one of the earlier eps when she was sorting clothes with Claire, and Claire asked her if she was a Gemini (and Kate said yes.)

**MistyX**: Of course I don't mind your long reviews, you crazy girl! Those are the best ever..thanks so much for even taking the time to do that! (And I'm sorry I made you lose sleep...)

Glad people don't hate Aunt Meg too much, because there's more of her here:P Thanks for reviewing!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

When Sawyer entered the kitchen, he found his aunt going through the cabinets, examining their contents. She seemed to be making some kind of inventory, muttering to herself. Kate stood to the side, looking anxious and uncertain. She raised her eyebrows at him slightly as he came through the door, but just at that moment, Meg turned around and announced in a loud voice, "Well, nice to see there's some food in the damn place for once." She looked at Kate. "This your doing?"

She opened her mouth, not sure what to answer, but Sawyer came to her rescue.

"Yeah," he said shortly as he set the puppy down. "She makes out the lists."

Meg turned to him. "Did I ask you?"

Then, noticing the wet spot, she cackled in glee. "You got dog piss on your shirt, James."

"Thanks," he said, annoyed.

Grateful for a distraction, Kate moved over to the sink. She wet a sponge under the faucet and then wrung it out. Sawyer peeled off his soiled t-shirt and moved toward her, while in the same motion she dabbed the sponge on his midsection, wiping away the stickiness that had seeped through the fabric. They did all this naturally, without any words, as fluidly as if it had been rehearsed.

Noticing that Meg was watching them with interest, Kate grew embarrassed. She sat the sponge on the sink and took the t-shirt from him. "I'll go get you another shirt." Avoiding the other woman's eyes, she left the kitchen.

Meg looked at Sawyer wryly. "Helpful for a fugitive, isn't she?"

"You're makin' her nervous," he said accusingly, but in a low voice so Kate wouldn't hear.

"Honey, I imagine she's got a lot more than _me _to be nervous about. I would too if I were her. You have any idea how much the reward is for turnin' her in? And here you two are, wanderin' around the yard in the middle of the damn day without a care in the world."

"We were lookin' for the _dog_," he said defensively. "She almost never goes outside in the daytime...I know how _dangerous _it is!"

"Well, good," Meg responded. "Glad to see you haven't turned into a complete idiot. Although with your hair like that, it's hard to tell. Come on over here and let's get that finished so I don't have to look at it anymore." She moved briskly to the table.

He stayed where he was, reluctant.

"Sit," she said, pointing to the chair. And, for the second time that day, he found himself obeying that command in spite of himself. He sank into the seat, irritated, and yanked the towel around his neck just as Kate came back into the room.

"Oh..." she said hesitantly, to Meg. "I can do that."

"Don't worry about it," Meg said, lifting the scissors. "I got it from here."

"Okay," Kate said in a meek voice, handing him a shirt. "He doesn't want very much cut off, though."

Sawyer shot her a betrayed look. She raised her shoulders slightly, as if to say, _What am I supposed to do? _

"So," Meg asked conversationally as she began to snip. "You two screwin' yet?"

"_Christ_, Aunt Meg!" Sawyer said.

"I'll take that as a yes," she answered calmly.

Kate looked down at the floor as she felt a blush creep up her neck.

"Don't take it personally, Freckles," Sawyer said in a tone that was both angry and apologetic. "She's this rude to everyone."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Meg went on. "Might as well enjoy it while you're young, after all. You know, when your uncle and I first got together, we were like rabbits in heat...Some days we never even got out of bed."

Sawyer groaned in agony. He looked like he was going to be sick. Kate noticed the gleam of enjoyment in Meg's eyes. She was clearly doing this to him on purpose.

"Of course," she continued, "now that I'm a widow, I've got to make do on my own. But like I always said, there's nothing that a man can do that a couple of double A batteries can't. Isn't that right?" she asked, looking up at Kate.

"Um..." Kate said, feeling herself blush even hotter. She tried to think of a way to change the subject. "I...I'm sorry about your husband."

"What about him?"

"You said...you were a widow."

"Oh. That." Meg didn't seem very interested. "Brain tumor got him. Funny thing is, I always thought it would be the liquor that would finish him off."

"I always thought it'd be _you_," Sawyer muttered.

Meg bopped him on the head with the handle of the scissors. "Watch it, boy," she said warningly.

"James here was fond of his uncle," she explained to Kate. "Hell of a lot fonder of him than he had any right to be."

"Was that the uncle you told Jack about? When you were having headaches?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said.

"Who's Jack?" Meg asked nosily.

Kate and Sawyer looked at each other. Sawyer was silent, waiting for her to explain.

"He was...on the plane with us. And the island," Kate said haltingly. "He was a doctor."

"Musta been nice to have a doctor along," Meg said, casting a knowing glance at Kate.

"Yeah," Kate said in a quiet voice, still looking at Sawyer. "We were lucky."

Sawyer rolled his eyes slightly. "Don't know if 'lucky's' the word I'd use."

Kate seemed offended. "How can you even say that, Sawyer? You know how much he did for everybody...how hard he worked. If it hadn't been for him, you might have bled to death."

They stared at each other intensely, warily, completely forgetting Aunt Meg's presence until she broke in with a loudly voiced, "What the hell does she call you _that _for?"

They both looked up at her, confused.

"_Sawyer_," Meg repeated contemptuously. "Where's that come from?"

"It's a nickname," he said quickly, shooting a meaningful glance at Kate. She took it to mean that Meg didn't know the identity of the man responsible for his parents' deaths, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"It's a damn stupid one," Meg replied sharply. "You're gonna give yourself a nickname, you might as well come up with something worth the trouble. Like your cousin Steve...in high school, he started having people call him Scar. You remember that?"

"Steve was a jackass," Sawyer said contemptuously.

"Maybe so," Meg agreed, "But Scar's still a better nickname than Sawyer. You know what a sawyer is? It's someone who saws logs. That's what you want to be known as?"

He sighed wearily. Kate tried not to smile. She was actually starting to like Aunt Meg a little, although she still didn't know if she could trust her.

"What's wrong with your real name?" she went on. "James is a perfectly good one...No need to change it. You know how hard your mom had to fight for that name? Your dad wanted to call you Raymond, after his buddy who died in 'Nam."

"You never told me that," Sawyer said slowly, looking up at her with curiosity.

"You never asked," she said, angling his head back down. "Hold still." She took a few more snips, then resumed her story.

"Your dad just wouldn't give up on the idea...Soon as he found out she was pregnant, he told her if it was a boy, he already had a name picked out. So, she gave in...told him whatever he wanted was fine. For nine months, she pretended that she was carryin' around a little Raymond. Then, after you were born, she waited till he went down to the hospital lounge to watch a ballgame, then she called the nurse in and had 'em bring up the birth certificate. She filled it out all by herself, and by the time your dad figured out what she'd done, it was too late. You were officially a James."

Kate watched Sawyer's face as Meg told this story. He looked amused and yet somehow needy at the same time, as if he was desperate for any scrap of history he could get, no matter how trivial. Kate marveled at how Meg could talk about his parents so casually, as if they were just down the road and not dead in some grotesque tragedy. Maybe that was her appeal to Sawyer, she realized. Probably nobody else had ever talked about them like this, with such unconcerned openness. He certainly didn't seem disturbed, as he would have if _she'd _brought up his parents. Instead, he looked thankful.

Looking up, he caught Kate's gaze almost shyly. She felt a wave of affection for him wash over her, and she smiled at him a little. She was almost insanely grateful to his aunt for giving him that moment.

"Seems like we're all done here," Meg announced, whipping the towel from around his neck and dusting him off with it. "What do you think, girl?"

"Looks good to me," Kate agreed timidly.

"Well," she said with an air of finality, glancing at the clock. "I think I'll go try to catch my soap, if you don't mind. Haven't seen it in three weeks, but I'm willin' to bet the whores are still whores and the villains are still villains. If I fall asleep, don't bother me. Got that?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said, clearly hoping she _would _fall asleep.

Without another word, Meg turned on her heel and headed toward the living room. Standing up, Sawyer gestured for Kate to follow him into the pantry where there was less chance of them being overheard. He could tell she was still worried.

"You all right?" he asked in a concerned voice.

"Yeah," she said, softly. "I think so. I mean, you trust her, right?"

"I know she comes across like a lunatic, but she's really not...She just likes to mess with me," he said bitterly. "But yeah, I trust her. She won't say anything about you bein' here. Besides, I think she kinda likes you."

Kate laughed quietly. "She has a funny way of showing it." She paused. "But then again, so do you."

He smiled at her sadly, hating that darting, uneasy look in her eyes. No matter how much he reassured her about his aunt, he knew he couldn't completely convince her. It was just another potential worry that she had to add to her list, something that would always be there, lurking in the background. It killed him that he could never truly make her feel safe.

"C'mere," he said, pulling her into his arms. She leaned against him, and he could feel the tension in her body. Making a mental note to give her a massage later, he made do for now with rubbing slow circles on her back. Bending down a little, he blew gently on her neck, enjoying, as always, the way it made her raise her shoulder in defense and break out in goosebumps. He leaned back against the washing machine, still holding her. It was funny how the presence of another person in the house served to bring them closer together, almost as if they were two misbehaving kids surprised by the early arrival of a parent.

"Sorry about the haircut thing," she whispered with a smile.

"Yeah, you picked a hell of day for that, didn't you?" he asked, trying to sound annoyed.

"She did a good job, though," Kate said, pulling back to look at him. She ran her hands through his hair, experimentally. "Much better than me."

Instead of answering, he kissed her. She melted into it, closing her eyes, but then Sawyer pulled back abruptly and stared at the door. Turning, Kate saw Meg standing there with a sardonic expression.

"Hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, but your dog's humping the sofa cushions. He allowed to do that?"

Kate looked at Sawyer, at a loss.

"I'll get him," he said, sounding tired. Brushing past his aunt, he went toward the living room.

Meg continued to stand there, regarding Kate with interest. She looked like she couldn't quite make up her mind about her. Kate looked down, rigid and uncomfortable.

Finally, Meg gave her what seemed to be a genuine smile. "At ease, soldier," she said in a low, ironic voice. "I'll be outta here by tomorrow. In the meantime, why don't you fix yourself somethin' to eat? You're thin as a damn rail."

Kate looked up at her, strangely relieved. She nodded. "Okay." She had to fight the urge to say _Yes, ma'am_.

Meg nodded back, as if the two of them were sharing a secret, then she turned and left the room again.

* * *

It turned out that Meg _did _fall asleep, waking up only at dinner time to force Kate out of the kitchen and take over the cooking. Then, after she'd eaten, she returned to the living room with the warning that she was retiring for the night and wasn't to be disturbed, and immediately fell asleep again. Sawyer explained that since she was a truck driver, she sometimes stayed awake for two or three days at a stretch. The weird thing was, he hardly ever lived at this house, yet every time he stayed here, Meg somehow sensed it and showed up for a visit. Her timing was almost eerie. Kate privately thought that that wasn't the only eerie thing about Aunt Meg, but she kept it to herself.

They stayed upstairs all evening since the living room was off limits, and Sawyer gave her the massage he'd reminded himself to give her. Oddly enough, though, it didn't lead to sex like it always had before. After he was done, Kate rolled over onto her back and they looked at each other a little awkwardly. She could tell that the presence of his aunt right downstairs was having a dampening effect on his libido, and that he felt a little guilty about it.

She smiled at him reassuringly. "I'm exhausted. You mind if we just go to sleep?"

Relieved, he agreed with her. "Fine with me."

Sawyer dropped off almost immediately, but Kate had lied. She wasn't really exhausted. Thanks to Sawyer's skillful hands, her _body _was relaxed now, sunk deep into the mattress. But there was nothing he could do about her thoughts, and those were what kept her awake at night. Especially when there was a new source of anxiety, such as what had happened this morning. It only served to make her replay all the other close calls and reevaluate her situation and the perils she still had to face. Most of the time, she could find some way to avoid thinking about the future, but late at night, it crept up on her, and she wasn't always able to fight it off. If Sawyer was awake, it might help, but she would never dream of waking him up just for comfort.

Suddenly, she heard a faint rattling noise, sounding like it came from the direction of the kitchen. She raised her head up slightly, listening. She tried to remember if she'd filled Gus's water bowl before she'd come upstairs. What if he was thirsty and the bowl was empty?

Getting out of bed, she tiptoed lightly down the stairs and entered the kitchen, stopping abruptly in surprise. It wasn't the dog, after all. It was Aunt Meg, brewing coffee...at 1:30 in the morning.

"Oh," Kate faltered. "I'm sorry...I didn't... I mean, I thought I heard..."

Meg looked at her, amused.

Finally, Kate stopped trying to explain. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Coffee's all I need. Figured I'd brew a pot and then push on outta here, get a head start on the Memphis delivery."

"In the middle of the night?"

"I'm not big on goodbyes," Meg answered.

Kate smiled a little. "Me neither."

Meg looked at her closely. "Have a seat," she said, more in the tone of an order than an invitation.

Kate pulled out a chair, almost grateful for the distraction.

"How long have you been staying here?" Meg asked.

Kate thought for a second. "You know, I'm not really sure," she said slowly. "About a month, I guess?" She went on, almost to herself. "I can't believe it's been that long."

"You two were together on that island?"

"We were both there, but no...we weren't _together_. Actually, we didn't even get along very well. We still don't," she admitted quietly, almost laughing.

Meg nodded. "Well, sometimes, that's how the best love stories go. It's the ones that are all perfect and sickening and lovey-dovey that you got to worry about. It won't last. Take me and my husband for instance. We fought every damn day of our lives. The day we met, I tried to run him over with my old man's Chevy. When I couldn't do it, he proposed."

"How romantic," Kate said.

"Yeah, well...romance is overrated. You care if I smoke in here?"

Kate shook her head.

She withdrew a cigarette from the pack she'd taken out of her pocket and lit it expertly, bringing it to her lips in the same motion.

"Anyway," she went on, sitting down. "He was my best friend. Wouldn't have traded him in for nothin' in the world. Sometimes I wanted to kill him, though." She took a deep drag and then blew the smoke out slowly. "The Ford men..." she said thoughtfully, "are complicated creatures. I imagine you've already figured that out though, haven't you?" She looked at Kate shrewdly.

"Yeah," she answered truthfully. There was no denying it. _Complicated _might even have been an understatement.

"When they hate, they hate so strongly that it consumes 'em like hellfire. When they're sad, they think the whole world oughtta come to a halt and cry for 'em. And when they fall in love," Meg added, "they fall so hard that they don't even notice when they've hit the ground." She looked pointedly at Kate.

Kate met her eyes, and then glanced away. "I'll try to remember that."

"Take Billy, for example." She paused. "James's dad," she explained, since Kate registered no recognition of the name. "When he fell in love with Laura, it was like there was nothing else on the planet but the two of 'em. He would have done just about anything for her...and the sad thing was, everybody knew she didn't really deserve it. Not that there was anything wrong with her," Meg said quickly. "She was just as sweet as they come. But she never cared about him the way he cared about her. And everybody knew it but him. That was why it was such a shock to him when she did what she did. If he'd had any clue...if he'd seen it comin', maybe he wouldn't have gone off the deep end the way he did. But he was completely in the dark."

Meg stopped for a second, lost in memory.

"Most people thought it was the loss of the money that made him do it...the fact that they were cleaned out, didn't have anything left to start over with. But I knew better. It was the thought of her with another man that made him do it...that made him kill her and then turn the gun on himself. He didn't give a damn about the money," she finished almost bitterly.

Kate took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, not knowing what to say.

"I'd hate to see that kind of mistake repeated again," she said with emphasis. "If she'd cleared out early enough, before he got in over his head, then maybe that whole mess coulda been avoided. You understand what I'm saying, girl?"

"I think so," Kate whispered.

"You don't want to make the mistake of letting him get too dependent on you...too attached. Not unless you're in it for the long haul."

"I think you've got things backwards," Kate said hesitatingly. "_I'm _the one who's dependent on _him_, not the other way around."

"It might feel that way, but don't fool yourself," Meg advised sharply. "I've known James a lot longer than you have...I know him just about as well as anybody _could_, in fact... and I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Could be, the damage has already been done. But if you're thinkin' about hittin' the road, I suggest you do it pretty damn quick. I'll even give you a ride, if you want one."

Kate seemed a little annoyed now. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, softly but firmly.

Meg examined her for a few seconds, smoking contemplatively. She seemed to come to a decision.

"All right, then," she nodded sharply. "Then tell him whatever the hell it is you're not telling him, and be done with it."

"_What_?" Kate asked, unnerved.

"You like being lied to?" Meg asked.

"No," Kate said defensively. "I'm not lying to him."

"Keeping secrets is just as bad. Might not seem like it when you're young, but it's one of those things you figure out the hard way as you get older. So take my advice and believe it now. It all amounts to the same thing in the end."

Kate stared at her, disturbed but also somehow unaccountably relieved. That was absurd, she knew, but it was almost like Meg was giving her _permission _to tell Sawyer about her past. She still knew it wasn't something she could do right away, but maybe the time would come...maybe it would even be sooner than she'd thought. She considered asking Meg how she knew she was keeping secrets, but decided against it. The woman was intimidating.

"Funny thing is," Meg went on, changing stride, "I never would have thought James would take after his dad. When he was little, he was a one-hundred percent Mama's boy. He was so attached to her, it was ridiculous. Never left her side. Bet you can't picture that, can you?"

Kate smiled slightly. "Actually, I can...in a way."

Meg nodded, looking pleasantly surprised. "Well, of course, that all changed in a heartbeat after everything happened. After that, he wasn't attached to much of _anything_. Barely even spoke for about a year. Did you know that?"

"No," Kate said quietly.

"One day...musta been eight, maybe nine months after the funeral...he was outside at our place, wanderin' around by himself...he avoided the other kids like the plague. We had this spring...crystal clear, about fifteen feet deep. You could see straight to the bottom of it. I was plantin' potatoes or somethin', and all of a sudden I see him climbin' around this brush pile on the bank next to the water. Sure enough, just as soon as I look up, he takes a wrong step and tumbles down into the spring. So I stand there, waitin' for him to pull himself out...because he was great swimmer...much better than all the other kids. Nothin' happens. Not a trace of him. So I run over there, and..."

Here Meg stopped, almost as if she was back in that moment, re-living it, still just as shocked as she'd been then. She went on in a soft, wondering tone of voice.

"And he's just...kind of, _laying _down there on the bottom. Like it's the most comfortable place in the world, and he's just decided to have himself a little nap. He was so... _still.. _he looked almost like a doll, except he had his eyes open. Creepiest damn thing I ever seen." She shuddered a little.

"But you know what the worst part was? The worst part...was that I thought.._'All I have to do is turn and walk back up to the house. Nobody knows I'm down here...they'll just think he was alone and there wasn't anyone to pull him out_.' Can you believe that?" she asked, looking at Kate. "It seemed like the simplest thing in the world. Just turn around, and let him do it. Let it all be over with."

Now she looked past Kate, staring into space, haunted.

Kate shivered, feeling unsettled. She wanted to scream at Meg, shake her, demand that she go back and get him, even though that was ridiculous. Sawyer was upstairs, sleeping soundly above their heads. He was fine, and this was something that had happened over twenty-five years ago. Still, the tale seemed to have a bizarre urgency to it.

"Well," Meg, finally said, shaking herself out of her reverie and sighing. "I guess you know what I finally decided. He's still here, isn't he? Not that I ever got a thank-you or anything like that. Matter of fact, I've never seen anyone so pissed at havin' his life saved. You'd have thought _I _was the one tryin' to drown _him_. I doubt he even remembers that day, but deep down, I don't think he's ever forgiven me for it." She smiled a little. "First thing I thought when I heard about that plane crash was, 'Well, I guess he finally got his wish.'" She looked at Kate curiously. "You think I'm some kind of monster?"

"No," Kate said thoughtfully. "No...I know what you mean." They shared a knowing glance.

"But I think..." Kate went on, "you'd be surprised. He's stronger than you give him credit for." She felt the overpowering urge to defend Sawyer somehow, even if Meg was right.

"I hope so," she said. She got up to pour a mug of coffee. It had finished brewing almost ten minutes ago, but she hadn't noticed. "You want some?"

"No thanks," Kate said. "I have enough trouble sleeping as it is."

"I would imagine so," Meg said evenly.

"Can I ask you something?" Kate ventured.

"I don't know, can you?"

She bit her lip a little awkwardly, then said, "If you know what I did...why they're looking for me...then why aren't you more concerned? Shouldn't you be more worried about me killing him instead of just breaking his heart?"

Meg laughed, clearly amused by this. "Well, to tell you the truth, I hope you don't do either one." She sat back down and sipped her coffee. "You believe you can tell what people are like by their faces...their eyes?"

"I don't know." Kate seemed to consider. "I guess not."

"Well, I do. Bad people have bad eyes and good people have good eyes...sounds childish and stupid, I know, but it's never proved me wrong yet. Second I saw you standin' out there in the yard, I knew you weren't bad deep down. Did you do what they say you did?"

Kate didn't know how to respond. "There were..._circumstances_...that nobody knows about." Her voice shook a little. "I know everybody says that, but..." She stopped, tormented.

Meg looked at her closely, but with sympathy now. She asked in a low voice, "Somebody hurt you pretty goddamn bad, didn't they?"

Kate looked at her, but there was no need to answer. They sat there silently for a minute.

After a bit, Meg spoke. "You know anything about caribou?"

Kate stared at her blankly. The question was so completely random and unrelated to anything that they'd been talking about that she couldn't even digest it.

"Reindeer..they're also called reindeer," Meg helped her along.

"I'm sorry?" she said, still bewildered. The thought crossed her mind that maybe Meg wasn't quite_ all there_. She'd seemed normal up till now, but that was before the subject of caribou had come up.

"I know this guy, up in Canada. Yukon Territory. He's got this..._preserve _thing. Privately owned, but the government subsidizes it. Thousands of acres, out in the middle of nowhere."

Kate raised her eyebrows slightly, trying to feign polite interest. She still had no idea where this was headed.

"He's a crazy son-of-a-bitch, but he's a good guy. One of those hippie, tree-hugger, make-love-not-war types. You know the sort?"

"I think so," Kate said tentatively.

"Well?" she asked, clearly expecting some kind of answer.

Kate continued to stare at her, at a loss for words.

"It must have occurred to you that you can't stay here forever."

Now it began to faintly dawn on her what Meg was getting at. "We were...thinking about Mexico, maybe. Eventually."

"Mexico's one of the most crowded places in the world."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing? To blend in?"

Meg laughed. "I suppose it would be, except for one problem. You're not Mexican. And last time I checked, neither was James. You even speak Spanish?"

"No," Kate admitted, a little embarrassed. How had that thought never occurred to her before?

"I didn't think so. Besides, I don't think blending in would be your best option, anyway. You're too damn pretty for that...if you were ugly, you might stand a chance. But with a face like that, you'll be easy to remember. Your best bet is to get away from people altogether."

"That's what we're doing _here_."

"Sweetheart, Eastern Tennessee might feel like the middle of nowhere, but I guarantee you, it isn't. It's not good enough. And I'm willing to bet you know that deep down."

Kate sighed, looking at the table, but she didn't answer. It wasn't what she wanted to think of right now.

"Well," Meg said, sensing her mood. "Keep it in mind, anyway. James knows how to get ahold of me. Even if he hardly ever _does_," she added bitterly. "There may come a day when you'll need the details."

"Okay." Kate nodded gratefully, both at the offer and at the fact that Meg wasn't going to press the issue _now_.

She drained the last of her coffee and stood up. "Nothin' like that combination of caffeine and nicotine. I think I might just be ready to drive."

Kate stood up too. "I'll have to unlock the door. It's...tricky." She fetched the key from the peg and opened the kitchen door. As Meg stepped out onto the porch, she turned back to Kate, looking at her closely once more. "Keep your chin up, girl. It could be worse. You could have had _me _for an aunt."

Kate smiled. As Meg descended the steps, Kate called after her.

"Meg!"

She turned back around questioningly.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For pulling him out of the water," Kate said softly.

Meg smiled, a little sadly. "Well...At least _somebody _appreciates it." As she turned and walked off, she hollered back, "You two keep that damn dog inside!"

Kate closed the door, smiling, and re-locked it. She stood in the dimly lit kitchen for a second in thought, and then went back upstairs.

Climbing into bed, she kneeled over Sawyer and shook him slightly. "Wake up."

"What?" he muttered, sounding groggy and annoyed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered. "I just wanted you to wake up."

Leaning over him, she locked her arms around his neck and lay there beside him, holding him as tightly as she possibly could. She honestly didn't know, in that moment, whether she was clinging to him for his protection or for her own. But maybe, in the end, there wasn't that much difference between the two.


	23. Chapter 23

Faran: Yes, there's more. Don't underestimate the extent of my long-windedness. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

He didn't see her at first when he opened his eyes, but he noticed right away that the room was unusually light. Then he raised his head from the pillow and spotted her, sitting in the window seat with the curtains drawn all the way back. She had the window wide open, and she was leaning out slightly, with a faraway, distant look in her eyes. A cool autumn breeze drifted in and fluttered her hair back from her face. He watched her, mesmerized, wondering what she was thinking about, and then realized with a tinge of irritation that he had absolutely no idea, and most likely never would. He sighed a little, and she finally turned in his direction.

"You're awake," she said.

"Good observation," he drawled. "You mind tellin' me why you're hangin' out the damn window?" As he said this, he lazily tossed the blankets off and shuffled over to stand next to her.

"When we were outside yesterday, I noticed the leaves were changing color, but I didn't really have a chance to look. This is my favorite time of the year," she explained.

"That so?" he asked, sliding into the space behind her on the seat and pulling her back against him.

"Uh-huh. What's yours?"

"My _what_?"

"Your favorite time of year."

"Don't have one."

"_Everybody _has one, Sawyer. Which season do you look forward to the most?"

"I don't _know_," he groaned. Why did women always feel the need to ask shit like this? Couldn't they just accept the fact that guys didn't give a damn?

She waited, trying to force an answer.

"Winter, I guess," he finally admitted.

"How come?"

"Because it's cold and you gotta _do stuff _to warm up," he said slyly. He trailed kisses from her shoulder up to her ear, trying to lead her thoughts in a different direction.

It didn't work. "Look at that maple out there," she said, gesturing down toward the valley. "Isn't that beautiful?"

"Mmm-hmm..." he murmured, still kissing her.

"You didn't even look!" she sad accusingly.

He ignored her.

"Your aunt took off in the middle of the night."

Now he stopped kissing her and sighed. Any mention of Aunt Meg was a surefire way to take his mind off of sex.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I was down there when she left. Don't you remember me coming back in and waking you up?"

"Yeah...what the hell was that about?"

"I don't know," she said softly. "But you were right...we can trust her. I'm glad I got a chance to talk to her before she left."

"What'd _you _two have to talk about?" Sawyer asked, sounding incredulous.

"You, mostly." She turned around slightly to look at him, smiling.

"_Great_," he replied, sounding less than thrilled. "What did she say?"

"My lips are sealed," Kate said, turning and leaning back against him.

"Nothin' new _there_," he muttered sarcastically.

He felt her tense up a little and knew that she was hurt, but he couldn't exactly say he regretted it.

After a few seconds, she said quietly, "Listen. Do you hear that?"

At first, he didn't hear anything, but then his ears picked up a faint, discordant honking.

"Geese," he told her.

They both looked out the window and up at the clouds as an enormous flock passed by far overhead, tiny Vs of black against the overcast sky. The sound of honking rose to a crescendo. It looked like at least twenty flocks banded together into one, on their way south for the winter, following the path of their ancestors down the Appalachian corridor.

"There must be thousands of them," Kate breathed.

He felt her shiver slightly, and intrigued, he looked away from the geese and watched her face instead. There was something about her gaze that deeply unnerved him, although he couldn't pinpoint why. She watched the flock wistfully, and also, he thought, a bit enviously. He felt a shadow pass across his heart. With a vague sense of dread, he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand tightly, almost as if he was trying to hold her back from something.

Distracted by his movement, she turned back toward him with a questioning look, trying to read his expression. They looked into each others' eyes for a second.

Perhaps picking up on his undefined fear, Kate leaned into him and kissed him, lingering on his bottom lip. When she pulled back, he raised his hands to the sides of her face, searching her features, trying to determine if what he'd seen there was real or imagined. But whatever it had been, it was gone now. She looked like herself again.

Running his fingers lightly from her temples down to her jaw line, he realized that he'd never once seen her with makeup on. She hadn't had any on the island, and she didn't have any here. Did she _ever _wear any, even when she had access to it? In a way, he hoped not. She didn't need it. There was something incredibly erotic about her naturalism, the way she could always look beautiful without any effort at all. Besides, makeup would cover up her freckles, and he couldn't stand the thought of that.

Having had enough of his scrutiny, Kate kissed him again, and then stopped, abruptly, asking with a mischievous smile, "What's _that_?"

"What?" he asked.

She lowered her hands slowly to his lap. "Did you wake up with that?

"I don't know," he said playfully. "Can't recall. Why...you interested?" If she was trying to distract him, she was doing a damn fine job.

"Maybe," she said, still smiling. Kissing him, she kept her hands moving on him in an infuriatingly gentle motion.

"Don't be startin' nothin' you can't finish, sweet cheeks," he whispered.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said in an innocent tone, tugging on the elastic of his boxers.

* * *

Over an hour later, they were finally roused from the room by an impatient, accusing bark at the door. It was the first time Gus had ventured upstairs, and he seemed to be telling them that he'd had enough of their fooling around. They both felt a little guilty at the fact that they kept getting so wrapped up in each other that they completely forgot the existence of the dog.

To compensate, Kate spent most of the morning on the floor playing with the puppy, trying to make up for her lack of attention. The sky continued to darken and the thermometer continued to drop. At noon, the weather forecast predicted a bad thunderstorm with temperatures possibly reaching down into the forties.

"Told you it was a stupid idea to get that damn air conditioner fixed," Sawyer said.

She rolled her eyes and refused to answer him.

Later, for an experiment, she tried to turn the heater on just to see what would happen. She wasn't at all surprised when absolutely _nothing _happened.

Entering the kitchen, she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, looking at him. He was going through the box of moldy record albums Aunt Meg had left, trying to decide whether to toss them out or not. Glancing up at her, he asked wearily, "_What_?"

She sighed and closed her eyes for a second. "You're gonna be pissed at me for even bringing this up."

"I reckon that won't stop ya though, will it?" Distracted, he held up another album, this one Wayne Newton. "_What the hell was she thinkin'?" _he muttered, shaking his head in contempt.

"Your heater doesn't work," Kate said. "How did you ever live here, Sawyer? What did you do, just camp out? Pitch a tent in the living room?"

He turned toward her again, annoyed. "Worked fine last winter. You're probably just not turnin' it on right."

"I flipped the switch to 'ON'," she said dryly. "You have some secret code built into it, or something?"

"Pilot light might be out. What do you want it on for, anyway? It ain't cold yet."

"No, but it will be tonight. And it'll just keep getting colder every day from now on." She waited. "So could you check the pilot light?" she asked impatiently

He exhaled slowly in irritation, but he was embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that he was starting to enjoy this quasi-domestic spatting. When she badgered him about things like this, it made him feel somehow _useful_...like she needed him. He knew she was perfectly capable of lighting a fuse herself, but she wanted him to do it. He was oddly grateful to her for that.

After lighting the fuse, however, both were frustrated to discover that the damn thing _still _didn't work.

Pulling on a flannel shirt, Sawyer headed downstairs.

"Where are you going?" Kate asked curiously, following him.

"To chop some wood."

"For _what_?"

"The fireplace," he said, looking at her like she was an idiot. "In the living room. You never notice it before?"

"I _noticed _it," she said defensively. "I just didn't think you were the type to actually _use _it."

"Well, looks like we don't have much _choice_, do we, Freckles?"

"What are you mad at me for? You act like I broke the thing on purpose."

"Lock the door when I'm gone," he said, ignoring her. "And stay inside."

* * *

He found a chainsaw in the shed and gassed it up, enjoying the heft of it in his hands. He hardly ever used the thing, but every time he did, he enjoyed it. This time was no exception.

Locating a dead and decaying hickory tree on the path to the lake, he proceeded to saw it into manageable sections, not hurrying, taking pleasure in the way the sawdust and wood chips flew up and scented the air, mixing with the gasoline smell of the chainsaw. It was a rugged, masculine smell, and he was suddenly surprised by what he could only describe as a pang of _homesickness _for the island.

Back there, this kind of task (although without the benefit of the chainsaw) had been necessary for existence. And although he'd wanted nothing more than to get back to civilization as fast as he possibly could, it seemed that part of him hadn't minded that kind of life as much as he'd thought. On the other hand...taking care of Kate was proving to require almost as much physical exertion as life on the island, so maybe things hadn't changed that much, after all.

He pulled the truck down to the spot where he'd sawed the wood and piled it into the back. As he worked, a low, distant growl of thunder rumbled across the sky. He glanced up at the slate-blue October storm clouds, and, for the second time that day, felt an unaccountable dread...for what, he had no idea. He _liked _storms. It couldn't have anything to do with that. Then what the hell was it?

He unloaded the wood next to the back porch and then used an axe to split the round logs into smaller pieces that would fit into the fireplace. Every few seconds, when he turned toward the house, he noticed the curtain twitch suspiciously. He realized with amusement that Kate was watching him. Even here, she was somehow drawn to the spectacle of him engaging in physical labor. Grinning secretively, he showed off for her a little, using much more strength than was necessary to divide the dry wood into kindling.

When he'd finished, he started to pile the pieces on the covered porch, up against the side of the house where they'd be protected from the weather. Kate came out to help.

"Thought I told you to stay inside," he said, trying to sound annoyed.

"It could start raining any second...We need to get that up here before it does."

He didn't argue with her, since the wood was right next to the house and she didn't need to go far. Besides, he liked it when she referred to them as "_we_." They worked without speaking, piling up the logs tightly in a rick formation next to the kitchen door. He watched her, admiring the way she lifted more than she could handle easily just to prove that she could. Unconsciously, they turned it into a kind of race, both piling from opposite sides and hurrying to see who could get the farthest before the logs ran out. It was close to a tie, which they didn't acknowledge, since they hadn't acknowledged they were even competing in the first place.

Almost on cue, the rain began just as they finished piling on the last handfuls. They stood and watched it for a second, Kate breathing in deeply as the wind picked up and blew a bracingly chilly gust their way.

"The color of the sky makes the leaves look even brighter," she said, almost as if she was talking to herself.

Sawyer grabbed a few of the split logs and held the door open. "Better come on in," he said warningly.

Tearing her gaze away from the yard, she turned toward him, smiling a little sadly. "I know."

She followed him in and he instructed her to wad up some newspapers. Stuffing them into the fireplace, he laid the logs on top and struck a match. "Here goes nothin," he said.

The paper took the flame and then transferred it to the logs. A cheerful, crackling sound began. Sawyer watched it proudly.

After a few seconds, however, Kate asked, "Is the smoke supposed to come back into the room like that?"

"It'll clear out," he said, sounding troubled. "Just give it a few minutes."

But the smoke continued to billow out into the living room; dark, acrid swirls of it obscuring everything.

Kate coughed, holding her hand up to her mouth. "I don't think this is supposed to happen, Sawyer! How long has it been since you've had the chimney cleaned out?"

"_What_?" he asked, looking at her like she was crazy. "Who the hell would I get to do that?"

"I don't know! A chimney sweep, maybe?" She picked up a blanket and flapped it in the air, trying to clear a space to breathe in.

"A _chimney sweep_? Sweetheart, unless you got personal connections with Mary Poppins, I think you might have a hard time hirin' one in the 21st century!"

"Well, somebody must still do it!" she said, exasperated. She went to pull back the curtains, opening up the windows as wide as they would go. "You're gonna have to put the fire out...Go get some salt!"

Annoyed, he knew she was right. He went to the kitchen and returned with the bag of salt. Luckily, there was just enough left to quench the still meager flames. After most of the smoke had cleared out, sucked through the open windows, he stuck his head into the chimney, and, with a flashlight angled into the darkness, peered up the flue.

"What are you doing?" Kate asked wearily.

"Bird's nest," he said, spotting the problem. "It's as big as a damn pizza. That's what's blockin' the smoke. Go get me a broom," he said, craning his neck to look at her.

Sighing, she brought him one from the pantry.

Holding the flashlight with his left hand, he raised the broom awkwardly with his right and began poking around, lifting it as high as he could reach. Kate almost held her breath, clenching her fists together apprehensively. Dislodging the nest with the broom, he was able to lower it fairly slowly down beside him. "See?" he asked, looking at the long-abandoned, petrified bundle of sticks and straw. Kate let her breath out in relief.

Suddenly, with an audible _whoosh_, a veritable gush of soot and ashes raced down the chimney, apparently disturbed by the passage of the nest.

"_Son-of-a-bitch_!" Sawyer yelled, jerking his upper body out of the fireplace. But it was too late. His head, neck, shoulders, and chest were almost completely blackened. Standing up, he spat ashes from his mouth and wiped his eyes in a fit of rage.

Kate stood completely still, her hand frozen to her mouth, not moving.

He glared at her. "You think this is funny?"

"No," she said, _very _carefully. She tried to avoid looking directly at him.

"Like hell you don't."

She almost looked like she was in pain. "You should probably go take a shower," she whispered.

"Yeah, thanks for the advice," he said savagely. "Why don't you do me a favor and try to get all your laughin' over with by the time I get back, all right?"

She bit her lip, hard, still not looking at him. He climbed the stairs in a heavy, angry manner and she heard the bathroom door slam.

Collapsing onto the couch, she buried her face in a pillow and let the hysterics take over, laughing until she couldn't catch her breath.

Gus trotted in, took one look at her, became alarmed, and went back out.

* * *

When Sawyer came back down, she looked somewhat chastened and guilty. Her face was still red and her eyes were gleaming, but he could tell she felt bad. In his absence, she'd cleared away the bird's nest and the mess he'd tracked across the floor, and she'd even managed to re-light the fire. It burned brightly now, the smoke disappearing neatly up the chimney.

She stood up and kissed him, a form of apology. "Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?" he asked, still sulking.

"For the fire. It feels warmer in here already."

"It better," he muttered. "See that?" He raised his hand, palm up, for her inspection.

She looked at it, not seeing anything. "What am I looking at?"

"It's a _splinter_," he replied, offended.

"Oh," she said, still not seeing it, but pretending that she did. "Do you have a needle anywhere?"

"I don't know. Doubt it."

"In this entire house, you don't have one single needle?"

He thought for a second, annoyed that he'd even brought this up. "That room you were stayin' in...It used to be my grandma's sewing room. There might be one in there."

"I'll get it," she said quickly.

"No, you don't where to look. I think I know where it would be, if it's there."

Her eyes followed him nervously up the stairs.

He entered the room and flipped the light on, going over to the other side of the bed and opening the drawer in the nightstand. If he remembered correctly, there was a pincushion in here. Where there were pins, there might be needles. At least that was his reasoning.

He saw the pincushion immediately and pulled it out, but his eye was distracted by something else. A bulky handkerchief, wadded up into a bundle. When he brushed it aside, it felt heavy.

Curious, he pulled it out and unwrapped the fabric, spreading it out on the bed. Stunned by what he saw, at first he couldn't figure out how it had come to be _here_, of all places. He knew it had never been in this room, before - it had most likely been in the attic. But then, with a sickening flood of disappointment, it dawned on him. _Kate_.

He looked at the pieces, barely even seeing them now. His grandmother's diamond earrings. Her cameo brooch. A few other trinkets that he didn't recognize immediately, but that he could tell, just by glancing at them, were extremely valuable. But the thing that caught his attention and held it, almost making his vision blur in the force of the betrayal and rage that washed over him, was a small, almost insignificant gold band. His mother's wedding ring.

His thoughts were such a whirl of confusion that he didn't even attempt to formulate anything coherent. The questions were all there - _How long ago had she done this? Why? Was she planning to leave, or was it just a precaution? How could she do this to him, when she knew he would supply her with money? - _but he made no effort to answer them. Not yet. He just sat there, feeling sick.

"Did you find one?" he heard her ask from the doorway, her voice sounding tight and unnatural. Or maybe he only imagined that.

Turning toward her, he moved his arm so that she could clearly see what he _had _found.

She paled almost at once. He watched her closely, hating with every fiber of his being that closed-off, cornered, self-protective look she immediately assumed. It was the same way she'd looked when he'd accused her of trying to take his spot on the raft. It meant that she would fight back, and that she had no intention of admitting she was wrong.

He stood up with exaggerated slowness.

They faced each other across the room, silently.


	24. Chapter 24

This chapter is ridiculously short, everyone...I must warn you! I wanted this scene to be a separate chapter. But check tomorrow evening for the next part...the conclusion to this little "episode."

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

They stood there staring at each other for what felt like five minutes, but what must, in reality, have been no more than a few seconds. The only sound was the dreary late-afternoon rain pelting the window. Sawyer tried to keep his breathing under control, waiting for her to speak first.

Finally, she did.

"Do you even want me to try to explain, or do you just want to go straight to the yelling?" she asked in a tired voice.

He looked as if he couldn't believe she'd chosen to start with this.

"I don't know that you can really afford sarcasm right now, sweetheart. So why don't you just do yourself a favor and start talkin'. Where the hell did this come from?"

There was a dangerous edge to his voice.

"You know where it came from," she said in a quiet tone. "It came from the attic."

"When?" he asked with his teeth clenched.

"A few days after I got here."

Inwardly, he felt a small measure of relief. So at least it wasn't something she'd done _recently_. It didn't change the fact that she'd taken it, but it made it somewhat more bearable.

"Why?" he asked, a tiny bit calmer now, but still angry. "Were you plannin' to make off with it?"

"No," she said, defensively. "I'm not a thief, Sawyer." Unless you count bank robbery, she thought to herself, but said nothing out loud.

He waited for her to go on, to offer some kind of explanation.

She sighed deeply and looked at the floor. "At the time...I didn't know how close they might be. I knew they didn't follow me here, but there was the chance - there's _still _the chance - that they could have picked up my trail. I didn't know whether I might have to clear out of here with only a moment's notice. And coupled with the fact that I knew you didn't want me here..."

She looked up at him, hoping he would fill in the blanks himself and let her off the hook, but he still waited. She continued.

"I didn't have any money. I had absolutely _nothing _to live on...I tried to think of what I would do if I left..if I _had _to leave..and I couldn't come up with anything. I figured I could get enough money from that stuff to last a few weeks, anyway. But I would have paid you _back_," she said sharply. "Every cent...as soon as I could."

"You think I wouldn't have given you money?"

"I know you would have! You _did_, remember? But I didn't want you to have to do that. The reason I took the jewelry was because I didn't think you would ever miss it. You said yourself that you didn't even know what was up there."

"And I believe I also told you to stay the hell away from it."

She closed her eyes for a second. "Yeah, well I didn't take it, did I? That night I left, I had it in my hand, ready to go...and I couldn't do it. I put it back in there and I haven't touched it since. I just... forgot to put it back where it came from." She said this last bit almost casually, as if she was letting him know she'd forgotten to turn the coffee pot off.

"And that's all you have to say?" He kept looking at her intently.

"What else do you _want _me to say? I just explained to you what happened. What more do you want, Sawyer?" Now she was starting to get irritated.

"I don't know," he said bitterly. "Guess I shouldn't really _expect _anything more from you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He looked down at the pile of trinkets on the quilt. "You even know whose jewelry this was?"

She tried to resist rolling her eyes. "You know that I don't. Why would you even ask that?"

"How 'bout this one?" he went on, quietly, dangerously. He lifted the ring and held it up to show her.

She crossed her arms in front of her, not answering, knowing that at this point he wasn't really expecting an answer. She waited.

"This was my mom's wedding ring," he said, in the same tone of voice. "How much you think it'd be worth?" He tossed it in the air and caught it, looking at it almost experimentally. "How much you think you coulda got out of it to live on? Enough to stay in some cheap fleabag motel for a few days? Maybe buy a bus ticket...get you to another stoppin' point, till you figure out who to steal from next? How much mileage you think you coulda got out of my mom's wedding ring?" He looked at her almost lethally.

She held his gaze, now growing angry herself. "You know, I wouldn't think her _wedding _ring would mean all that much to you...considering what your dad did to her."

Almost immediately, she regretted saying it. But the words were already out. In a flash, he'd crossed the room and brought his palm down loudly onto the wall just inches away from her head, where she stood in the doorframe. She flinched, but made no effort to move. He leaned toward her, his face so close that she could feel his breath. She closed her eyes and swallowed, but otherwise remained still.

In a hoarse, furious whisper, he said, "Don't you _ever _mention my parents again. You don't know _shit _about my parents. You got that?"

Now she opened her eyes, slowly, and looked directly at him. In a calm, infuriating voice, she said, "You want to hit me, Sawyer? Then go ahead and do it. Don't take it out on the wall."

Now he removed his hand and stood up straighter, stepping back away from her a little. He looked at her incredulously, stunned.

In a contemptuous voice, he replied, "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then you could make this whole thing about _me_...take the focus off of what it's _really _about." He shook his head, almost laughing. "Nah. Sorry, Freckles. It's all _you _this time."

They remained silent for a few seconds, regarding each other warily.

Finally, Kate brought her hand up to her face, covering her eyes briefly as if she was hiding tears. When she lowered her arm, her eyes were dry, but it was clear that a change had taken place. She no longer looked angry, but instead, apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she almost whispered. "Is that what you're waiting for? I'm _sorry_, Sawyer," she repeated. "It happened right after I got here...before...before any of this, with us..." She gestured around the room, as if the explanation for their relationship was lurking somewhere near.

Turning her gaze back to him, her expression became almost pleading. "You have to know that I would never do anything like this _now, _with the way things are between us. Everything's different...I wouldn't even consider it."

He kept watching her, his face hardened.

"You _know _that, right?" she asked, near tears.

"All I know is that you're one hell of an actress. So I guess maybe I oughtta stop pretendin' that I know _anything _else about you."

She drew in her breath sharply, now looking as if he actually _had _hit her. His words were more painful than a physical blow could ever be.

"How can you say that?"

"Guess I shouldn't feel bad, though," he went on, almost to himself. "Hell, I probably ain't the only one, am I? I bet I'm just one in a series... You probably do this all the time, right? Find some poor bastard, get him to fall in love with ya, and then use him till you decide it's time to split?"

He realized he'd said too much almost before the words were out of his mouth. It was the one word - _love _- that neither of them had been brave enough to mention yet. He certainly hadn't intended to mention it like _this_. For a second, he hoped that she'd missed it in the overall insult, but he knew that was wishful thinking. She didn't miss anything.

She looked at him sadly, but with a question in her eyes, wanting him to confirm what she'd heard.

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "Guess my secret's out. Like you didn't already know it, anyway."

"Sawyer," she said gently, wanting to respond, but knowing now probably wasn't the best time for this particular issue. She sighed, wearily.

Glancing at the bed, she said, "Why are you doing this? The jewelry's right there...I didn't take it, and I _didn't leave_. I'm not planning to, either! So can we please just...drop this?"

"Don't think so," he said, obviously still bitter. "Not this time."

"Why?" She was genuinely confused.

"Because this ain't about the damn jewelry, sweetheart. Tell you the truth, I don't care if I never see it again."

"Then what's it about, then?"

He seemed to consider for a second. "It's about me realizin' that I'm livin' with a goddamn stranger."

Wounded, she looked away from him. "You really believe that?"

"You gonna deny it?" he asked savagely.

She didn't say anything, still refusing to look at him.

"You know, I've had a lotta one-night stands in my day...won't lie about that. Most of 'em were nothin' but trash. Guess I always thought that once I actually cared about someone, it would be different. That I'd actually _know _the person I was sleepin' with, for once." He shook his head. "Shoulda known I wasn't ever gonna get that with _you_."

"Please, stop."

She wiped away a tear, and then looked at him forcefully. Although her voice wavered, she continued. "You just said the other night...on my birthday...that you would_ take what you could get. _Do you even remember that? Or does it not mean anything to you?"

"You're the one who said that, not me."

"But you agreed, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then...what? That isn't good enough anymore?"

He looked pained. "Guess not," he said truthfully.

She nodded slightly and made an effort to stop crying. "So...that's it? Just like that? After everything we've been through, that's what it comes down to?"

"That's up to you." He swallowed hard.

They looked at each other steadily, almost longingly.

When she didn't say anything, he broke their gaze, looking disappointed in her. Brushing past her, he went slowly toward the door.

"I'll be out on the porch if you feel like talkin.' If not..." He paused, appearing tortured, but forcing the words out anyway. "Then maybe it's about time for you to start makin' some other plans."

She closed her eyes again, feeling like somebody was stabbing her. To hear him say those words _now, _when she'd come to depend on him so much, was almost more than she could bear.

At the door, he paused, turning his head slightly back in her direction. In a tired voice, he spoke. "I can't do this no more, Kate. I don't know who the hell you are." He met her eyes one more time, and then turned and left the room.

She stood there without moving for a second, listening to him descend the stairs.

She now had a decision to make, and it was one of the hardest she'd ever been faced with. She could tell him everything, or she could leave...and keep her past sealed off, private, and _her own_...the way it had always been. She knew it wasn't fair of him to ask this of her. He hadn't been able to give up his search when she'd asked him to a few nights ago, so he had no right to demand anything of equal weight from her. But, fair or not, the options were clear. She could take it or leave it.

Feeling that her knees wouldn't support her much longer, she walked over and sank down onto the edge of bed. Lowering her head into her hands, she tried to make up her mind.


	25. Chapter 25

This is the mantra I'm repeating everywhere, but I have to apologize for the vagueness about Kate's past..you'll see what I mean. There are MANY reasons for this, but, briefly, I want to remain as true to the characters as possible, and I don't want my story to be invalidated by next season. If I do a sequel later, I want to leave Kate's past somewhat open-ended so I can plug in the real thing WHEN we get it. But the important thing is what it means for Sawyer to know, not us. ;) I know that's disappointing (and seems cowardly of me), but I just want my Kate to be the real Kate, as far as possible.

And thanks so much, again, for reviewing! I know people have a lot of distractions in the summer, so the fact that you still make time for this story means a lot to me.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

From where Sawyer sat on the porch swing, he could watch the rain coming down in sheets while still remaining relatively dry himself. Every once in a while the breeze would send a cool spray in his direction, but despite the chill in the air, he found it refreshing. Especially after living in the godforsaken island inferno for over a month. He hadn't realized what a relief the autumn would be when it finally arrived in full force.

The bracing air also gave him a chance to clear his head. He was still trying to sort out exactly what had just taken place upstairs...what he'd said, what she'd responded, and what it all meant. Normally, he wasn't inclined to do that. When he'd had fights with women before, he didn't look back. He wasn't one for self-analysis. He said what he felt in the heat of the moment, and then he moved on, forgetting about it. But that didn't seem possible anymore. Not when any wrong or misplaced word had the power to alter everything...to destroy the fragile web of interdependence they'd been weaving around each other for almost a month.

And what exactly _had _he said? Everything was a blur except for some of the last few words, "It's up to you." Repeating them, even to himself, made his stomach turn a little. It had only been about ten minutes since he'd come down here, but he could already sense the mistake of those words. He knew, firsthand, that she didn't respond well to threats. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly a _threat_, but it was certainly an ultimatum, and that came close to being the same thing, at least where Kate was concerned. He didn't regret it yet, but he knew there was a definite possibility that he would later.

What if she actually decided to leave? Could he take it back...tell her that it didn't matter, that he'd changed his mind? Would she accept that? Probably not, he thought. And _should _he take it back? He hadn't been overdramatic; what he'd said was true. He was tired of feeling like he didn't know her. But which was worse...possessing only a part of her, or losing her completely? If she left now, he was truly terrified at the thought of what would become of him.

He sighed nervously and considered, once again, going back inside. Just as he was making up his mind, however, he was distracted by a motion off to his left. He knew automatically what it was, and he refused to turn his head in that direction. Instead, he kept his eyes leveled straight in front of him, gazing out over the gradually darkening yard. He could see her, out of the corner of his eye, approaching slowly, hesitantly. He tried not to allow himself to feel too much relief yet. This didn't necessarily mean anything.

She sat down without saying a word or even looking at him, the same way she had last week when he'd been reading the letter. Their positions were somewhat reversed now, although he found it ironic that they were sitting in the same place. Her opening remarks echoed his thoughts.

"So, what is this, the Porch Swing of Emotional Confrontations?" She smiled slightly, although her eyes were still sad.

He glanced at her, not really wanting to show any signs of softening, but unable to help himself. The corners of his lips raised slightly, just enough to make his dimples crease.

"Startin' to feel like it."

The joke seemed to clear the air between them, lifting off some of the heavy and oppressive tension.

Kate sighed deeply.

"I used to love rainy days when I was a kid. I had this ridiculous yellow raincoat...I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Now I realize I must have looked like such a dork. But at the time I didn't care. I just liked being able to stay outside and play, even when the weather was bad." She smiled to herself, in memory.

At first, he thought maybe this was how she was going to begin her narrative...just jump right into it, with no warning at all. But she didn't say anything else. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. These types of random, disjointed childhood fragments were all that she'd offered up in the past. He'd gotten used to the way she would suddenly dip into a remembered event, and then withdraw just as quickly, refusing to be drawn back near the edge no matter how much he prodded. She reminded him of someone who didn't know how to swim, but yet was irresistibly drawn to the water as if by a power beyond her control.

"You come down here to chat about the weather, Freckles?" he asked, a little impatiently.

She looked at him, hurt, but not at all surprised by his question. She didn't answer.

In a softer voice, he tried again. "You make up your mind yet?"

"I'm out here, aren't I?"

He nodded slightly in acknowledgement, now allowing himself to enjoy a small measure of relief. Maybe he hadn't destroyed things beyond repair, after all.

They sat without speaking for a while, until the silence was too thick to bear. It seemed to draw them together and push them apart at the same time.

"I don't know how to do this, Sawyer," Kate finally said, almost as if she was asking for help.

He didn't know what to say. Why did this have to be so hard?

"I've never told anybody before...not _anybody_. Nobody knows the whole story. I offered to tell Jack, a few days after we crashed, but he said that none of that mattered...that we'd all died, and could start over. I guess that's not true anymore." She looked out at the valley, wistfully.

"_What_?" Sawyer asked, genuinely shocked.

She turned to him in surprise, not even realizing until now the implications of what she'd just said.

"You offered to tell _Jack_?"

"I _didn't, _though," she said defensively. "It was just...an impulse, I guess. I think a part of me already knew that he wouldn't let me say it. If he had, I doubt I would have been able to go through with it."

"Well, wasn't that just _noble _of him?" Sawyer said with contempt.

She rolled her eyes. "I barely knew him at the time, Sawyer. That's probably why it seemed easier...especially with all the chaos of the crash, and people trying to survive...Plus, he was really easy to talk to. I can't exactly say the same for you."

He glared at her, but she ignored him.

"I think the problem with us is that I've just waited too long. I should have told you everything right from the beginning, as soon as you let me know I could stay here."

But Sawyer was still fixated on her earlier comment. Knowing that Jack had been willing to gloss over her entire past life made him feel somehow judged, even though she apparently hadn't intended that. Well, Jack hadn't been _sleeping _with her, though, had he? He didn't have as much at stake, Sawyer told himself defensively.

Shaking his head, he muttered, "Knows the guy for two goddamn days, and she's more than willin' to spill her life story. But the guy who's been sleepin' with her and hidin' her from the FBI and buyin' her clothes and food and dogs and _tampons_...Hell, I guess he don't quite _measure up_."

"_One _dog," she pointed out, unable to resist making fun of him a little.

He wasn't amused.

Suddenly, another gust of wind blew directly against the side of the house, spraying a fine mist in its wake. Kate ducked her head protectively and shivered.

Still annoyed, Sawyer pulled off his flannel shirt and tossed it in her direction without a word. With a slight smile, she put her arms into it and wrapped it around her, enjoying the way it still retained the warmth of his body.

She watched his profile closely. He now sat in only a thin t-shirt - the one with the rip in the sleeve that he obstinately refused to throw out. He stared straight ahead, obviously still dwelling on her mention of Jack. He was so insecure, it was ridiculous...but for some reason it inspired a feeling of tenderness in her.

"You were right, you know," she said softly.

"About _what_?" he asked with scorn.

"About what you said earlier...the way I've used men, in the past. Made them fall in love with me, and then took what I needed and cleared out. I _have _done that before. More than once."

"Figured as much," he said in a sulky tone.

She nodded in agreement, becoming more serious now.

"There's a big difference, though...between then and now, Sawyer. The difference is..."

Here she paused, and her lower lip trembled a little, despite her efforts to stop it. She laughed a little, annoyed at herself, trying to hold back tears.

"The difference is," she repeated, "I didn't fall in love with them _back_."

He turned his head in order to meet her eyes, but then looked away quickly. It seemed too dangerous at the moment.

"How am I even s'posed to know whether you're tellin' the truth or not?"

"Because you're the only person who's _ever _been able to tell that!" she said sharply. "You know when I'm lying. You _always _know when I'm lying. If you're gonna sit there and tell me that you think I'm messing with you...that I'm _acting_," she said, her voice breaking on the last word. "Then I should leave right now. Because there's no point in keeping this up any longer, if that's the way you feel. Do you really think I'm lying to you?" She paused. "Look at me, Sawyer."

He continued to stare out away from her, seemingly tortured.

"Look at me!" she demanded.

Finally, he met her eyes again. The pain and the _need _that were evident there, so close to the surface, almost overwhelmed him. She looked like she might break into pieces at any second.

"Do you think I'm lying?" she asked again, in a desperate whisper.

He searched her face, but he already knew the answer.

"No."

He could see the relief she felt in the subtle change of her expression. The urgency gradually died down only to be replaced by something more akin to dread, or even fear. Glancing down to her side at the porch's floor boards, she started tugging at the bottom of the shirt, unconsciously twisting it tightly between her fingers. She was preparing herself.

After what seemed like forever, she seemed to come to a decision. There was no point in waiting in longer.

"It's kind of a long story," she said in a shaky voice, her face growing more pale even as the words left her mouth.

For the first time, it dawned on him how much anguish this was going to cause her...this opening of a door that she spent the majority of her time and effort trying to keep closed and locked tight. Until now, he'd mostly been concerned with the unfairness involved for _him _in not knowing. He hadn't considered what it would mean for her to have to go through this ordeal.

"Hey," he said, to get her attention.

She made an effort to drag her gaze back up to his.

Impulsively, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her; gently, not insistently. Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers for a few seconds, his fingers lightly meeting behind her neck.

When he pulled back a little, she looked at him questioningly.

"Forget it," he said, almost harshly.

"_What_?" she asked, confused.

"I don't want you to do this. I don't need to hear it. Probably better off not knowin', anyway."

But instead of looking grateful, she looked alarmed. She shook her head slightly.

"You can't do this... Don't do this, Sawyer."

"Don't do _what_?" He'd thought this was what she wanted.

"Don't..." she tried to think of the right words. "Don't _back down_." She was trying to sound firm, but not doing a very good job. "If you give me that option, I'll take it. So _don't_. I need you to..." She took a deep, jagged breath. "I need you to make sure I do this. _Please_. It's time."

He tried to gauge whether she really meant this or not, but she apparently did. And although he knew she was right, and that this was long overdue, he wished to God he'd never brought it up.

"All right," he agreed, feeling a kind of sick apprehension.

"I want you to know. Everything," she continued. "But..." she looked around. "Can we at least go inside, by the fire? It's cold out here."

He stood up slowly, holding out his hand to her. She took it, making a weak attempt to smile. With his arm around her, he led her inside.

* * *

First, in order to delay the inevitable, they collected blankets and pillows from the upstairs bedrooms, piling them on the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace in a futile attempt to create a comfort zone. Sawyer wanted to go straight to the whiskey bottle for refreshments, but Kate suggested they start with coffee and hit the hard liquor later, when they really needed it. Neither of them had any appetite, so there was no point in thinking about dinner. They fed the puppy and put more wood on the fire, until the moment eventually came when they had nothing left to do.

In front of the fire, with a pillow clutched protectively against her, Kate finally began to talk. The lights in the room were dim, and the firelight played off her features, illuminating the shifting blue-green hue of her eyes, outlining her cheek bones and the tendrils of hair that hung around her face.

At first, during the early stages of her story, she was able to maintain an eerie calmness...almost a detachment. It was like she was talking about somebody else, a person she was only vaguely acquainted with. These were the happy years of her life, her early childhood. They were so relentlessly normal as to be almost boring, and they gave no indication of what was to come.

Gradually, things shifted. He could sense the change coming before she even got to it. As she reached the turning point in her narrative, her calmness abandoned her. She began to be interrupted by fits of trembling so intense that they were almost spasms. She choked on certain words, physically incapable of pronouncing them. Sawyer was forced to supply some of them for her, although they were nearly as hard for him to say as they were for her.

His horror increased as she continued to talk. If it hadn't been for the promise she'd extracted from him earlier, he wouldn't have allowed her to continue. But he didn't know if he could have stopped her. Once the floodgates were opened, she seemed to be propelled onward in a rush of words, unable to pause, even to catch her breath.

He listened as she talked about her childhood, her parents, her friends. The day that everything had begun to go wrong. The trust that had been betrayed. The terror she'd endured. The loneliness that had nearly overwhelmed her. The guilt, and the pain, and the suffering, and the fear that had never left her, not even for a fraction of a second. Her desperate desire to run away, and her inability to do so. The action she'd finally been forced to take. The spiraling horror and catastrophes that had resulted from it, turning her, irrecoverably, into a fugitive. The death of her best friend. The betrayal of her mother. The people she'd used, and the lives she'd destroyed. Her subsequent descent into hunted status, always looking over her shoulder, never being at peace, ready to flee at a moment's notice. She went on and on and on, pouring out words as the fire burned lower in the grate and it became completely dark outside. Neither one of them noticed, or cared.

His torment grew in proportion to hers, so that by the time she'd reached her conclusion, he was as emotionally distraught as she was. Never in his life had he met someone, or even _imagined _someone, whose life story was more harrowing and nightmarish than his own. The rage that he felt in her behalf practically blurred his vision. The thought of what she'd endured...of what she'd had to go through, and _alone_, no less... He couldn't wrap his mind around it. It was unfathomable, beyond comprehension.

When she finally stopped talking, the shaking went on unchecked, pitiful to watch. Her teeth even chattered slightly. She looked at him yearningly, waiting for something, although she didn't know what.

"Kate," he whispered uncertainly, in a hoarse voice.

At first, he thought she was starting to laugh. Incongruously, that was what it looked like. But within a few startled seconds, he realized the truth. She was sobbing. He'd never seen her do this before, and the newness of it alarmed him. Before he had time to recover, she'd shakily crawled into his lap. Instinctively, he held her as tight as he could. Although in a daze, he was still able to do the appropriate comforting things, rocking her gently back and forth, whispering soothing phrases, smoothing her hair down her back, covering her shoulders and neck with kisses. Although he'd never done this before, the actions seemed to come naturally, to his immense relief.

At some point, the weeping subsided. Not long after that, the trembling tapered off as well. To his surprise, he realized that she was asleep.

* * *

They remained where they were for the rest of that night, on the floor, in front of the fire. This time, when her nightmare returned, he didn't have any hesitation about what to do. He had her in his arms before she even woke up.


	26. Chapter 26

**MistyX:** It's like you read my mind. ;) And don't worry about Jack...it's definitely in the cards.

Thanks so much for the reviews everybody - and welcome to the new readers! There seem to be a lot lately...I must have good publicity, or something.

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**Chapter Twenty-Six**

The first thing Sawyer became aware of the next morning was that something was licking his face. Struggling up out of sleep, he had the absurd notion that it was Kate, and he was more than a little surprised. What the hell had come over her? Had she snapped? As he reached full wakefulness, however, it dawned on him that it was, of course, _not _Kate...it was Gus. He shoved him away gently, and the puppy, apparently pleased with his success, trotted over to a corner to chew on one of his toys.

Sawyer stretched a little, his back feeling stiff from sleeping on the hardwood floor. Although they'd piled blankets onto it, it was a poor substitute for a mattress. Even the sandy beach on the island was better than this. But he didn't regret it. It would have been much colder upstairs, and besides, he would have had to carry Kate.

He looked at her, her face just inches away from his. They both lay on their sides, directly facing each other, although Kate wasn't awake yet. Even in sleep, she looked sad and somehow defeated. Gazing at her now, in the faint morning light that filtered in around the edges of the closed drapes, it was hard to believe that her tale of the previous night could possibly have a basis in reality. It seemed more a creation of his own fevered, distressed brain than something that could have actually taken place. But he knew that was just wishful thinking. He hadn't imagined it, and every word she'd said had been the truth. The horror was all too real, and there was no escaping from it.

Knowing what he now did about her past made all the old protective feelings flare up even more powerfully, to the point where his past worries seemed like nothing compared to the present. He knew, with a kind of instinctual, primal certainty, that he would die before he would ever let anyone hurt her again. It wasn't something that needed to be reasoned out or analyzed; it was simply there, resting in the core of his being when he looked at her, as if the capacity had always existed and he'd only now become aware of it.

But there was also within him this morning a new kind of fear, cohabitating with the more noble impulses. It was so vague and undefined that he wouldn't have been capable of putting it into words, but it consisted in the idea that what she would eventually need protecting from would be, not someone from the outside, but himself. Probably not in a physical sense...despite his violent temper, he doubted that he could ever lose control of himself to that extent. But perhaps in an even more significant sense - emotionally. The memory of all the hurtful things he'd already said to her flashed through his mind, and what was worse, he knew that there would be many more instances in the future. He at least knew himself well enough to understand that his fundamental tendencies would never change.

Not to mention the fact that nothing in his past gave any indication that he was cut out for this type of thing. His own life was so fucked up and his past actions had been so selfish and misguided that he was barely capable of taking care of himself...how could he possibly expect to be able to take care of someone else? What in God's name had possessed her with the notion that she could put her faith in him? he wondered. Was it some self-destructive impulse, hidden deep in her subconscious? Or did she just not know any better? He was starting to feel overwhelmed and a bit panicky.

But when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him with that clear, forthright, trusting gaze, all of his doubts vanished, at least for the moment.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Mornin'," he answered.

They looked at each other almost shyly for a few seconds.

"Sorry about the nightmare," Kate said.

"Yeah, well, you didn't elbow me this time, so I figure I got off pretty easy." He smiled at her a little.

She tried to return his smile, not very successfully. "It'll probably come back again tonight. Just to warn you."

"I'll be waitin' to kick its ass when it does." He reached over and lightly brushed back a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Then, embarrassed by the gesture, he pulled his hand away awkwardly.

The moment seemed to unlock some of the tension between them, though. Kate raised up a little, leaned over, and kissed him. It was a leisurely, drawn-out kiss - not in any hurry to reach a stopping point. They allowed their lips to move over each other as if they were exploring new territory. And in a way, it _felt _like new territory. Everything seemed different now.

She finally broke away, and with a deep, shaky intake of breath, lay down with her head resting on his chest.

"Don't worry," she said reassuringly. "I'm not gonna cry again."

"Wasn't worried," he replied. Well, maybe he had been a _little_, but he didn't want her to think that.

They lay there quietly for a minute or so, until they were disturbed by the sound of falling water. They looked around, confused, thinking the roof was leaking somewhere, but then they both noticed the culprit at the same time. The puppy. After he was finished, he moved disdainfully away from the puddle as if it was no longer his problem.

Sawyer sighed, irritated. "Think it's about time to build a damn doghouse."

"I'll clean it up," Kate said wearily.

"No, stay here," he said, sitting up. "I'll get it. Need to build the fire back up anyway...it's cold in here."

She looked at him, surprised but appreciative. "I'll put some coffee on, then."

"I'll do it while I'm up...just stay here," he repeated gruffly.

"You don't have to treat me like an invalid, Sawyer. I'm okay," she said in a gentle tone.

He looked as if he didn't quite believe her. How could she be okay? Since he'd only heard her story last night, it was easy to forget that she'd been living with it for years. Although it didn't make sense, even to his own mind, it felt like it should all be as raw and new to her as it was to him.

"Besides," she went on, smiling at him sympathetically. "You make the worst coffee I've ever tasted in my life."

Before he could respond with a snarky comeback, as he was clearly getting ready to, she kissed him again, cutting him off. He accepted the distraction.

Pulling back, they shared a look that spoke volumes without any words being exchanged at all. For the first time, Sawyer knew her completely. He was no longer gazing into the eyes of a stranger. It was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

"Thank you." Kate mouthed the words, barely even speaking them aloud. He didn't have to ask what she meant.

She stood and went toward the kitchen. Sawyer was unable to stop looking after her until she'd completely disappeared from view.

* * *

It became clear, over the next few days, that she hadn't _entirely _been telling the truth. She didn't cry again; she'd been right about that part, anyway. But it was obvious that she wasn't herself. In some ways, it _was _comparable to recovering from an illness. She couldn't seem to get warm, no matter how many layers of clothing she wore or how close to the fire she got. She was also withdrawn, lacking in energy, and sensitive to external stimuli. When the UPS driver rapped sharply on the door to deliver her shipment of clothes, she was so affected by the shock that she had no interest in opening the box after he'd gone. Sawyer did it himself, and she looked on listlessly while he pulled out the clothes, one item at a time, trying to entice her. (He threatened to model the clothes himself if she didn't cheer up, which at least got a smile out of her.)

She slept a lot, and the nightmare returned - often at first, and then only sporadically. Sawyer learned to recognize the first signs of it and was usually able to wake her up before the worst part commenced, much to her relief. What surprised him was that, for the time being, at least, his own recurring nightmare seemed to have disappeared completely. Maybe it was that he was so preoccupied with her that he didn't have much time left over to worry about his own problems.

Paradoxically, she became both distant and clingy at the same time. Although she didn't feel like talking much, she also didn't want to be alone. She stayed around Sawyer whenever she could, seeming to take comfort in the very fact of his presence. At first, this unnerved him, but after a while he adjusted to it and accepted it as the norm - simply the way things were now. When he had to go into town to buy more groceries, he hurried as fast as he could, not wanting to leave her by herself, even though they'd been through this routine countless times since she'd been staying with him, and it had never bothered either one of them before. They were both relieved that everything went smoothly, and after that test run, things began to feel more like normal.

Sawyer was also nervous about approaching her for sex, especially right at first. He didn't know if she would want to, and he didn't really want to pressure her. But more than that, he was bothered by her story to the extent that he wasn't even sure if _he _would be able to concentrate. How could they ever do it again without those horrible images coming back to haunt him? Eventually, though, Kate grew impatient with waiting, and she let him know, without question, that there was no need to hold back. Approaching him as he lay in a half-doze on the couch, she made it abundantly clear that at least _that _aspect of their relationship could go on the same as usual. Instead of associating it with anything tragic from her past, she seemed to use it, rather, as a form of comfort. Everything went according to schedule, in the same intimate and complex rhythm they'd grown so familiar with, and Sawyer's relief was palpable.

Kate's past history was not returned to again in conversation, or even hinted at. Neither were their respective revelations involving that most enigmatic of words - _love_. It wasn't necessary. They weren't talkative people, or especially demonstrative either. They had no desire to re-hash issues that had already been dealt with, or repeat words that had already been said. Their connection was strong enough so that when something had once been released into the space between them, it would remain there, held in place by the magnetic force that drew them to each other. It was enough that they both knew the truth.

* * *

After nearly a week of procrastinating, Sawyer finally decided to follow through with his original plan and build a doghouse. Being indoors was starting to feel too constricting, anyway. It was like the walls were closing in on him. He didn't blame Kate. It was just that he'd never been the stay-at-home type, and the monotony of it was starting to make him lose his mind. Maybe an afternoon of mild physical labor was just what he needed to help him remember the benefits of being lazy.

So he gathered together enough scrap lumber and pulled everything into the shed, because the sky was iffy and it was possible there would be rain again. Kate had been reading a book from the living room shelf when he'd informed her of his plans, and she'd acted unconcerned, so he didn't feel guilty about spending a few hours away from her.

Although he didn't really have any idea what he was doing, and had never done anything like this before in his life, he'd been convinced that it wouldn't be all that hard. After all, he'd helped construct a raft that had managed to make its way through the dangerous, heaving waters of the South Pacific, hadn't he? All right, so Michael and Jin had done most of the work, but he'd done _a little_. Some would say that that had been a matter of life and death. This was just a dinky little doghouse...shouldn't it be a piece of cake?

His first mistake was forgetting to account for the fact that the puppy would grow. He'd been working contentedly enough for a little over an hour when the realization suddenly struck him that he was making the thing too small. The dog was small _now_, of course, but it was a goddamn German Shepherd...they got huge. What he'd constructed so far wouldn't even contain _half _of a full-grown dog. For a few seconds he was so blown away by the stupidity of this error that he couldn't even find words to curse himself with.

Then, muttering savagely under his breath, he took a hammer to the work he'd already completed, ripping and beating the entire thing apart until it was nothing but a pile of boards again.

Determined to get something done today so that all the time already spent wouldn't be wasted, he started over. Before he'd even gotten two boards nailed together, however, he became aware of the fact that he wasn't going to have nearly enough lumber to finish the damn thing. Was there really any point in doing this at all? He was so pissed that he considered flinging the hammer across the shed.

As luck would have it, of course, this was precisely the moment Kate chose to make her appearance.

Since his back was to the door, he heard her before he saw her.

"That's as far as you've gotten, in all this time?"

He turned around slowly, trying to keep his temper.

"It's a lot harder than it looks."

"Apparently," she said in a mildly amused tone, with her arms crossed in front of her. She took a few more steps into the building and looked around, curiously.

"You shouldn't be out here," he said.

"It can't be any more dangerous than the house is. It's got four walls and a roof, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well, I'm busy." He looked at her sharply. "You gotta follow me around everywhere?"

She glanced at him, and then quickly away, looking hurt and embarrassed. Sawyer's remorse was so instantaneous that it hit him almost before the words had left his mouth.

Turning toward the door, she started to head back out, slowly, trying not to show any emotion. Just as she reached the opening, he called out to her.

"Wait."

She turned back toward him, a question in her eyes.

He sighed heavily, looking at the floor. In what seemed to be an almost physical struggle, his inner torment registered not just on his face, but in his entire body. As if he was being compelled to say the most degrading, filthy word ever created, he finally choked it out, after a torturous pause.

"_Sorry_."

His anguish was so comical that Kate had to fight to prevent a smile.

"Could that be the first time you've ever said that?"

He looked irritated again. "You know what, maybe you oughtta just..."

"Sawyer!" She closed her eyes wearily and held her hand up, interrupting him in mid-stream. "Quit while you're ahead."

He narrowed his eyes in contempt and went back to hammering at the doghouse.

Kate re-entered the interior of the building and began looking around.

"So why do you call this a shed? It's really more like a barn, isn't it?

"You see any cows or horses anywhere?" He kept working, not looking at her.

"No. But that's a hayloft, isn't it?" She gestured up above their heads and over to the right.

"Ain't no hay in it," he said with raised eyebrows, giving the base of the board a resounding whack.

"That's true," she answered, playing along. "Looks like a bunch of boxes, actually." She peered up into the hayloft with new interest, trying to see into the dim recesses. "You know what's in 'em?"

"Nope," he said, impatiently, still trying to ignore her.

"Boxes that _you _own..that are on your _own _property, in your _own _shed...and you don't have a clue what's inside them," she said incredulously, looking at him with her hands on her hips.

"Probably_ more boxes," _he said with sardonic relish.

"Why would there be more boxes, _inside _the other boxes?"

"Hell if I know, Freckles. Why would a record label sign a band called _Driveshaft_? Guess the world's just a fucked-up place."

She could tell by the insane gleam in his eyes that he was close to the snapping point. Would it be best to leave him alone, or to egg him on for the sheer entertainment value?

"Aren't you curious?" she asked teasingly.

"Can't say that I am," he answered, holding a nail in his mouth. He took it out and positioned it, trying to ignore the fact that he _was _curious now. What the hell _was _in those boxes? He'd never even noticed them before. _Damn her._

She watched him closely, seeming to read his mind.

"I can get up there," she said in a conspiratorial tone.

"Like hell you can. There's no ladder, and I'm not gonna go waste time diggin' one out of the back."

"I don't need a ladder. I'm a good climber, remember? Half the food supply on the island came from me."

"Forget it," he said. "You ain't climbin' up there."

Paying no attention to him, she scrutinized the building carefully. Over on the far side, stacked up on their edges, were some old box springs and rusted metal bedsteads. They leaned against the wall, along with some sheets of plywood. If she stood on top of them, she would just be able to hoist herself up onto the edge of the loft. If she still had enough arm strength left, she could pull herself over.

Sawyer saw where she was looking. "Don't even think about it," he said warningly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Come _on_. After the trees on the island, that's _nothing_." Before he could protest further, she was already on the other side of the room and halfway up onto the first bed frame, balancing on an upturned spool of wire to reach it. He watched nervously as she reached the highest edge and inched along to the spot just under the overhanging loft. Standing up slowly, she balanced against it, the edge coming to just below her shoulders. She pulled herself up easily; much easier than he would have expected (and probably easier than he could have done himself, he realized, feeling a tinge of competitiveness.)

Looking down at him triumphantly, she headed toward the back to explore. He went back to working on the doghouse, keeping an ear open for whatever she might discover.

After a few minutes of silence, he couldn't take the suspense anymore. Against his inclinations, he called out, "Well?"

She came back over to the edge, looking sheepish.

"You were right," she said dryly. "It's just more boxes."

Now he grinned at her broadly. "What'd I tell ya?"

"Lucky guess," she said.

Then she smiled back at him, her way of conceding.

"Now, if you don't mind, would you please get your ass down from there?"

"I'm on my way." She lowered herself back over the edge onto the side of the upturned materials. Sawyer watched her closely, but with much less tension than he had a moment ago.

This time, though, instead of bringing her foot down onto the relatively solid metal bedstead, she landed on the old feather mattress instead. As she transferred the bulk of her weight from the hayloft to the mattress, it wobbled dangerously underneath her. Sawyer saw it begin to happen, but he had no chance to react. In just a split second, the middle of it bowed out and it buckled underneath her. She lost her footing and collapsed in the direction of the wall, against the metal bed frame. She put her arms out to break her fall, landing in between the frame and the wall.

Sawyer crossed the room in seconds and peered down over the edge of the frame into the space where she was lodged.

"I'm okay," she said, calmly, but with a slight tremor to her voice.

"Told you not to go up there, didn't I!" His heart was pounding so hard it was almost painful, and his panic expressed itself in anger.

She sighed. "Could you possibly save the yelling for later, and just help me out of here?"

He pulled the mattress away, and then both bed frames, creating a space large enough for him reach into. Stepping up onto the wire spool as she stood up, he lifted her out from underneath her arms. The way you would pick up a two-year-old, he thought absurdly.

It wasn't until he planted her on her feet out in the open area, in the murky light from the window, that he noticed the blood.

"Where's that comin' from?" he asked in alarm.

"It's my arm," she said, showing him briefly. "They're just scrapes...I slid down part of the bed frame, and there were some jagged edges. It's no big deal," she said casually. "I've been through a lot worse."

He exhaled deeply, trying to calm down.

"You need to wash it out with peroxide."

"I will," she said, heading toward the door. She looked back at the pitiful attempt at a doghouse on her way out. "Good luck with that," she said, trying not to smile.

* * *

Spurred on by her sarcasm, Sawyer stayed with the project much longer than he should have, forgetting nearly everything else in his desire to get something accomplished. By the time he finally stopped, it was almost dark.

He went inside, grabbing a beer. "Kate?" he called.

"I'm in the tub," he heard her yell back, her voice coming from the upstairs bathroom.

He headed upstairs, opening the door unceremoniously. All vestiges of physical shyness between them had become a thing of the past. Well, for _her _at least. He'd never had any to begin with.

"Did you finish it?" she asked, not looking at him. Something about her voice sounded funny.

"Not quite," he muttered. He didn't want to go into specifics. It would just piss him off again. "How's the arm?"

"It's fine," she said, turning toward him with a slight smile.

He sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub, pressing the ice cold beer can playfully against the back of her neck. She tensed up and ducked away from it, as he'd known she would. She kept her arms crossed below her chest, facing toward her body.

"Let's see it," he said.

"See what?" she asked innocently.

"_See what_. Your new belly-button ring, sweetheart," he said sarcastically. "What the hell you think I'm talkin' about? Your _arm_!"

"I already told you it was fine."

The manner in which she said it alerted him immediately.

"I didn't ask you if it was fine, I asked you to let me see it."

"You didn't _ask_. If you want to get technical."

"All right, then, I _told _you to let me see it. You goin' to, or not?"

She looked at him steadily for a few seconds, enough to cause him considerable alarm. Reaching over, he grasped her wrist, and, gently but firmly, pulled it away from her body and angled it upward toward the light.

He stared down at it with growing dread.

All up and down her arm, from the elbow to the wrist, were lodged tiny shards of rusted metal.


	27. Chapter 27

Happy Fourth of July, everyone! (Americans, anyway.) I hope you're all having a great holiday weekend. I wanted to get this chapter up before I run out to the fireworks display...so if I'm neglecting any questions, I'll try to get to them next time!

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" Sawyer asked accusingly. He slid off the edge of the bathtub and kneeled beside it, so that he was just inches away from her.

Kate continued to stare down at her arm, but in a calm, detached manner, as if she was looking at somebody _else's _arm.

"What would you have done if I had?"

He didn't really have an answer for that. Shaking his head, he said bitterly, "Can't believe you climbed up there...What the hell were you _thinkin'_, anyway?"

"_That's _why I didn't tell you earlier," she said dryly.

He looked back down, trying to keep his temper. There were at least twenty separate shards and splinters of metal, almost all lodged completely under the skin, forming shadowy bumps and ridges. He ran his fingers lightly over her arm and then pressed experimentally on one of the larger pieces, causing Kate to draw in her breath with a hissing sound.

"That hurt?" he asked.

"No."

Their eyes met, and it was so obvious she was lying that he had to wonder why she even bothered. It must just be an instinct. He pressed a little harder, determined to call her bluff. Her eyes closed and she tried to pull her wrist out of his grasp, but he held on.

"Stop it," she whispered sharply.

Feeling guilty but also somewhat vindicated, he eased up his pressure. He finally released her arm, and she drew it toward her chest, protectively, leaning against the back of the tub and sinking down further into the water.

"When's the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "A long time ago."

"Longer than ten years?"

She thought for a second. "I think I was twelve."

"Then that'd be a _yes_, wouldn't it?" he asked with sarcasm.

They looked at each other combatively, wondering if this was going to turn into a fight. Fortunately, for Sawyer at least, his worry outweighed his anger. He glanced away first, and they sat in silence for a minute.

"That metal's gotta come out of there soon," he said quietly.

"I know that."

"You're gonna have to go to a hospital."

"_What_?" She sat up quickly, the water sloshing against the sides of the tub. "Are you out of your mind? There's no way in hell I'm going to a _hospital_, Sawyer. I've made it too far to be turned in by some emergency room nurse who thinks she's just doing a good deed. Forget it." She spoke forcefully. "I'll cut my arm _off _before I'll let that happen."

"Yeah, well, it just might come to that, if those pieces stay in there long enough, sweetheart!"

"We'll figure something out."

"Sounds like you got a lot more confidence than I do," he said.

Her nonchalance was irritating him. Did she have any idea how serious this was? It almost made him sick to think how badly it could turn out, yet she acted like it was nothing worse than a hangnail.

Still lost in thought, he dipped his fingers distractedly into the water, not paying attention to what he was doing. It took a few seconds for him to register the fact that the bathwater was cold.

He looked at Kate, confused. "How long you been in here?"

She looked down at the water too, as if she'd forgotten where she was. He noticed for the first time that she was chilled, her entire body covered in goose bumps.

"I don't know," she said softly.

She raised her eyes to his, and he now saw the fear that she'd been so successfully hiding since he'd entered the room.With anybody else, maybe she would have been able to keep up the act, but not with him.She was scared to death,he realized. And although it made no sense at all, seeing this made his own panic evaporate almost instantly.

Pulling her upper body toward him a little, he pressed his lips to her temple, letting them linger there for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and leaned into him gratefully.

"C'mon. Let's get you outta here." He helped pull her to her feet and wrapped a towel around her, being careful now to avoid her damaged right arm.

* * *

While Kate was getting dressed, he went back down to the kitchen and tried to find something to eat. He wasn't really hungry, but it seemed like they should make an effort to do things like normal. After a few minutes of standing in front of the open refrigerator blankly without being able to focus on anything, however, he gave up and let the door swing closed.

He sat down at the table and sighed, feeling a headache coming on. What the hell were they gonna do? And why did this have to happen _now_? Hadn't she been through enough lately?

Hearing her enter the room, he raised his head up. She stood in the doorway and the two of them stared at each other without speaking. He noticed she was holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol. With a deep breath, she appeared to come to some kind of decision.

Crossing to the kitchen counter, she climbed up onto it and retrieved the bottle of whiskey, now half-empty, from the cabinet above the refrigerator. He watched her curiously. After she'd hopped down, she pulled a sharp knife out of the drawer next to the sink. Stepping resolutely back over to the table, she set the whiskey bottle down near her and then placed the knife and the alcohol in front of Sawyer.

She sat down across from him and unscrewed the cap from the whiskey, taking a long drink in one simultaneous motion. She cringed at the taste and fought hard to keep so much down.

Putting the bottle back on the table, she finally turned her eyes toward him. His expression was full of dread.

"Don't look at me like that," she said wearily. "You know what we have to do."

"Sure hope there's a steak involved in this somewhere, Freckles."

She gave him a small, grim smile. "Sorry." Lifting the bottle, she took another drink. "Maybe next time."

He closed his eyes for a second, wanting to delay this necessity as long as he could.

"Ain't no way this is gonna work."

"We have to try, at least. We don't have any choice." She drank again, and then went on. "I'd do it myself if it was my left arm, but I'm right-handed."

"Like hell you would," he muttered. She was unclear if that meant he wouldn't _let her _do it herself, or if he thought she wouldn't be _capable _of doing it herself. He didn't really know what he meant, either. It was just something to say.

"Sawyer," she said in a soft voice. "I need your help. I can't do this on my own."

There was that fear again, lurking deep in her eyes.

She went on, in a thoughtful tone of voice. "You remember on the island...a few days after we crashed...when you told me something had to be done about the marshal, and that since I was the one with the gun, I should be the one to do it?"

He stared at her, but didn't answer. It didn't really require an answer.

"And I couldn't do it," she continued, looking haunted. "I barely even knew you at the time. But I went to you, and I gave you the gun, and I asked you to do it instead. You didn't even hesitate...you just took it. Like you were already waiting for me to show up." She smiled faintly, in memory. "And you did what had to be done." She paused, taking another swig from the bottle. "Just like you're gonna have to do now."

He laughed silently, derisively. "Yeah, because that last time went _so well_, didn't it?"

"This is different," Kate said quietly. "I'm not asking you to shoot me. At least not _yet_. Let's just...start with the knife, and see how that goes first."

Sawyer rolled his eyes in contempt. "Everything's a joke, ain't it?"

She took another drink, not answering.

"Gimme that," Sawyer said, reaching over and snatching the bottle. He took a good long drink himself, enough to steady his nerves, and, hopefully, his hands. He handed it back to her. Exhaling bitterly, he picked up the knife.

"Sterilize it first," Kate warned.

"I _know that_."

He poured some of the rubbing alcohol onto a handkerchief, then ran it back and forth along the sharp blade of the kitchen knife. She watched him, seemingly mesmerized.

"You ready?" he asked when he was finished, hoping that she would have changed her mind and decided not to go through with this.

Turning aside in her chair, presumably so she wouldn't have to watch the procedure, she laid her arm across the table, her wrist placed directly in front of Sawyer. She still clutched the bottle of whiskey tightly in her left hand, although by now it was almost gone.

"Go ahead," she whispered in a shaky voice.

He had to try one more thing. "You know this is probably gonna leave scars, right?"

She nodded curtly. "Hurry up."

Swallowing hard and fighting against a wave of nausea, he covered her wrist with his left hand in order to keep her arm from moving. Holding the knife by the middle of the blade to gain more leverage, and also so that it wouldn't shake, he placed the tip of it to her skin, just under one of the lodged shards of metal. Blood welled up immediately, so that he couldn't see what he was doing. He wiped it away, and went back to trying to unearth the shard from her flesh. Her arm jerked convulsively, but he gritted his teeth and held it down. She stared out at the room, stony-faced, breathing hard.

The more progress he made, the more blood flowed out of her. He couldn't keep up with the job of wiping it away. He'd gouged out a good-sized hole in the skin of her arm, but the piece of metal he was picking at seemed to be disintegrating into ever smaller and smaller fragments. Every time he touched it, it broke into tinier splinters. The handkerchief was now bright red and soaked and the blood still ran in streams off of her arm onto the table. He was forced to dig into her skin with the knife without even being able to see clearly what he was doing.

Her arm was shaking badly now, her hand doubled into a fist. Hearing a muffled cry, he finally forced himself to raise his eyes to her profile. She was biting her lip, her face ghostly pale, devoid of any color whatsoever. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks, and the effort she was making to keep still caused her whole body to vibrate with what seemed like an electrical current.

It was more than he could endure. Slamming the knife down onto the table, he let go of her wrist.

"Fuck this," he said angrily.

She turned toward him, looking both relieved and betrayed at the same time. "Sawyer..."

"It's not gonna work!" he shouted. "Look at this!" He held her arm up, forcing her to see it. "Looks like it's been through a goddamn meat grinder!"

She paled even more and turned away, sickened.

"I keep goin' at this rate, you're gonna bleed to death. It was a stupid idea."

"I don't see you coming up with anything better!" she shot back.

"I haven't had a chance to think about it yet," he said defensively.

Standing up, he went and pulled a few dishtowels out of a drawer, wrapping one around her still bleeding arm, both to slow the stream of blood and to get it out of their sight. He felt like a failure, and he knew she did too. They were as helpless as a couple of ten-year-olds would be in the same situation. They had only each other to turn to for help, and neither one of them was capable of dealing with something like this.

"Well, think about it then," she said. She smiled bitterly. "I'm too drunk to be any help now, anyway. I'm gonna go on up and lie down. If you come up with anything, let me know."

She stood up, a little unsteadily. He started to help her, but she pulled away. "I got it."

Before she left, she turned back toward him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly "For all of this."

"Not your fault," he replied. That wasn't technically true, but there was no point in making her feel more guilty about it.

After she'd disappeared into the hallway, he sat without moving for a few seconds, trying desperately to think of some kind of solution. Finally, he seemed to decide something. Wiping the rest of the blood from the table, he stood up slowly, with an air of resignation.

* * *

Kate was sleeping fitfully, lingering in that uneasy space between wakefulness and unconsciousness. She wasn't sure whether she was dreaming or not, and the visions that tormented her were fragmented and lacking any kind of coherence at all. She tossed and turned, and every once in a while her entire body jolted abruptly with the sensation that she was falling.

Struggling up out of one of these pseudo-dreams, she was alarmed to see what looked like the shadowy outline of someone sitting on the bed. Jerking away in terror, she felt hands grasp her shoulders gently and pull her back.

"It's me...it's just me," Sawyer's voice said soothingly.

The residue of the alcohol was still clouding her thoughts. She tried to clear her mind, waiting for some of the fog to disperse before she said anything.

She felt Sawyer's hand on her forehead, then her cheeks. "Feels like you got a fever," he said, concerned.

"Probably just the whiskey," she said, her voice still a little slurred.

"Could be," he answered, sounding unconvinced.

"What time is it?"

"Close to two," he said.

"Haven't you gone to bed yet?"

"Been busy."

"Doing what?" she asked. Then she paused. "Did you come up with another idea?"

"You could say that," he muttered.

She waited, too exhausted to waste words by asking him again.

He sighed, going on with reluctance. "Got you an appointment. With a _doctor_."

"_What_?" She struggled to sit up, hanging onto him for balance and waiting for her dizziness to pass. "We've already been through this, Sawyer! I told you, I'm not gonna take a chance on getting recognized. It's just not worth it. Not for this." She shook her head emphatically.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he'll _recognize _you, sweet cheeks. I don't think that'll be much of an issue." He sounded strangely bitter.

Kate peered at him in the faint light coming from the hall, confused. Then, with slowly dawning recognition, she understood what that look on his face meant. There was only one person she knew of who brought out that expression of mixed contempt and jealousy.

"Oh, God. _You didn't_," she whispered.

He continued to stare at her miserably, confirming her guess.

"You called Jack."

She said it as if it was a statement, not a question.

Sawyer looked away, over toward the door. Forcing the words out, he answered her. "Plane leaves tonight. He should be here sometime tomorrow."

Kate sank back onto the pillow, not knowing what else to say.

The silence was so heavy that she was aware of the sound of her own heart beating.


	28. Chapter 28

MistyX: I sometimes find it eerie how well you predict what I'm going to do. Are you a writer? But I won't say which one of your possibilities is correct..you'llj ust have to read and find out. ;) Thanks so much for the in-depth reviews!

And everyone else, I'm so thrilled to still have your attention in the middle of the summer. Thank you so much for sticking with me!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Her pacing was about to make him lose his mind. Sawyer sat at the table, watching her go from room to room. The sun wasn't even up yet, and she was obviously in pain. She should have been sleeping...they _both _should have been sleeping, he thought with irritation. But instead, here she was, flitting nervously around the house tidying things up, acting for all the world like they were getting ready to host their first Thanksgiving dinner.

She came back into the kitchen and stopped abruptly, looking around with a blank stare, her face flushed and her eyes glassy with fever. She seemed to be trying to remember what she'd come in here for.

Noticing Sawyer sitting down, she looked at him accusingly. "You could help me, you know."

"Help you _what_? Exactly what the hell is it that you're doin'?"

"This place is a mess, Sawyer. I just found a pile of dog crap behind the couch that's probably been there for a week."

"Guess I didn't realize we were gonna have to _entertain_, Freckles. You want me to pull out the good china while I'm thinkin' of it?"

She actually seemed to be considering this. "Do you _have _good china?"

"_No_," he said loudly, getting annoyed.

She sighed. "Tell me again exactly what he said."

"We already been through this." He wearily ran his hand over the back of his head.

"But you weren't specific. What _exactly _did he say when you told him I was staying here? You said he wasn't surprised, but how did he act? Did he _say _that he wasn't surprised, or did you just assume it? I mean, did he say anything else about thinking that I should..."

"No. He didn't mention anything about that," Sawyer interrupted her quickly.

"What time was his plane leaving? Are you _sure _he's flying into Nashville?"

"Like I said, all he told me was that the flight left last night," he answered.

"How can you be sure they didn't have his phone lines tapped?" She looked worried.

"I called him at the hospital where he works, he called me back on a cell phone. I already _told _you that," he recited in an exasperated tone. This was at least the third time he'd said all this.

Kate still didn't seem to be listening. "Did you..." She paused, looking embarrassed. "Did you tell him about us?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"What _about _us?" His lips curved up with a hint of a sardonic smile. He looked up from the table at her, his head cocked slightly to the side.

She returned his gaze with an almost identical expression. "You know what I mean."

He shook his head, looking away. "And exactly how you think that would have come up in the conversation, sweetheart? _'Hey Doc, remember how I said Kate wasn't stayin' here? Well, turns out she is, and now she's got all these hunks a' metal stuck in her arm...you think you could come and dig 'em out? Oh, and by the way, I'm bangin' her...hope you don't mind.'"_ He said this with a kind of relish, as if he couldn't help but get enjoyment out of just the thought of it.

Kate raised her left hand to her face, covering her eyes with it. "Oh God, this is such a bad idea," she groaned.

"You know, if it's really botherin' you that much, maybe it'd be best if I just cleared on outta here till he's gone..came back later when you're all fixed up." He looked at her pointedly, curious to see if this was something she would consider, and secretly worried that it was.

She lowered her hand again with a softened expression, detecting the note of disguised apprehension in his voice. Instead of answering, she came over to the table and bent down to kiss him. Carefully, avoiding her right arm, he pulled her onto his lap.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "So don't even think about it."

"Just an idea," he muttered. "Thought it might make things less awkward...Of course," he went on thoughtfully, "that theory's all shot to hell if he brings his new wife along."

"_What_?" Kate pulled back a little and looked at him sharply, scanning his features. "Does he... Did he say... I mean, what would make you think...?" she stammered, and then stopped, noticing the look on Sawyer's face. He was messing with her.

She breathed out slowly. With a small, wry smile, she nodded slightly, acknowledging that he'd gotten her. "Funny, Sawyer. Really funny."

He tried not to laugh. "Come on, now, Freckles...you know better than that. You honestly think someone would marry that guy after only knowin' him a month? Hell, it would take that long to be convinced he ain't a robot."

Kate closed her eyes for a second, obviously trying to keep her composure. "Look," she began slowly. "I know that you and Jack aren't exactly best friends. That's fine. But could you at least _try _to be polite while he's here?" She gave him an imploring look. "He didn't have to say yes, you know. He didn't have to agree to drop what he was doing and come all the way out here. Would it kill you to act like you appreciate it?"

He rolled his eyes and tossed his head back a little. "Why don't you just try to stop worryin' about it for a while? What, are you afraid I'm gonna make him cry?"

She stared at him until he dropped his gaze, somewhat ashamed. But he also looked slightly hurt. It suddenly occurred to her why.

Leaning against his shoulder, she said quietly, "I know that calling him was the last thing in the world you wanted to do. The fact that you did it..." She paused and swallowed back emotion. "I hope you know how much it means to me."

He tightened his grip around her waist and kissed her shoulder in response. Now that he'd gotten what he wanted, he was uncomfortable and anxious to change the subject.

"How's the arm feel?" He lifted it delicately.

"You really want to know?" she said.

"That bad?" he asked with dread.

"It's getting worse," she answered after a short pause.

Gingerly, he unwound the cloth bandage that they'd wrapped around it earlier in a futile attempt to help prevent infection. He was appalled by the sight of it now. It was swollen and turning a hideous bluish-purple color, the areas of skin above the metal nearly black. Heat seemed to radiate from it, even more so than from the rest of her feverish body.

"_Christ_," he breathed.

Kate glanced at it once and then quickly away, over the back of Sawyer's shoulder.

Wrapping it back up, he tried not to hurt her but he noticed that she winced in pain anyway. "I got some pain pills around here somewhere...morphine tablets, I think. You want 'em?"

"You just happen to have morphine lying around?" she asked in an incredulous voice.

"Long story," he said evasively.

"I'll bet." She considered for a second, trying not to be overly influenced by her throbbing arm. "I should probably just wait until Jack gets here."

"Could be a few more hours...It'll wear off by then, anyway."

She still didn't seem convinced.

"There's no point in you sufferin' without any reason," he said, getting annoyed. "If it makes you feel any better, he'd probably agree with me."

Taking a deep breath, she gave in. "All right." She smiled grimly. "I'd be lying if I said I was good at dealing with pain."

"Let's go look for 'em, then." He sat forward and, before sliding her off of his lap, kissed her one more time.

As they moved into the hallway, Kate asked in a nervous voice, "So, tell me again...what time was his plane supposed to leave?"

Sawyer sighed loudly and let his chin drop toward his chest.

* * *

Jack looked out the window at the mountainous valleys and ridges as they came into view and then swiftly receded behind the cab. They'd been driving for about an hour now, and he estimated they were probably halfway there. He'd only been here once before, of course, but since he'd planned the route himself that time, he'd been forced by necessity to become familiar with the roads and the distance required.

As grueling as that cross-country trek had been, he had to admit to himself that it had been preferable to this. Last time, he'd been so intent on driving and paying attention to the unfamiliar landscape around him that he hadn't had a chance to think much. It had been simple and straightforward - _See if Kate's there, and, if not, turn back around_. He hadn't let himself dwell on the possibilities of whether she might be there or not, and if she was, what exactly he planned to say to her. It had been easier that way.

Now, in contrast, he had nothing at all to do but sit back and let the cab driver, a surly, uncommunicative elderly man, find the way for him and deliver him directly to Sawyer's doorstep. It was impossible not to think about her, no matter how much he tried to distract himself with other things.

More frequently than anything else, his mind kept traveling back to the last time he'd seen her.

* * *

After all the excitement and terror connected to the successful launch of the raft and the appearance of Danielle and the columns of black smoke, it had taken a few days for everything to settle down again and return to a normal rhythm. While he'd been spending the majority of his time with Locke at the hatch trying to figure out what the hell it all meant, Kate had gotten frustrated with the tedium of it and gradually drifted back to her familiar haunts.

He'd felt guilty about not spending time with her like usual, but ever since he'd accused her of trying to poison Michael, things between them had been slightly strained. Apologizing to her, or at least discussing it and getting it out in the open, had been on his list of things to do for a while now. But there were just too many items already on that list, and somehow, it kept getting pushed out of the way. He told himself that as soon as things quieted down, they'd have plenty of time for all of that.

Then one day, a day he still recalled with heartbreak, he'd realized that that time wasn't ever going to come.

Entering the garden from the south, he had a few seconds in which to observe her before she noticed him. She was planting seeds again. From this far back, he couldn't tell which kind, but he thought it might have been guava seeds...the same kind he'd found for her when she and Sun had first had the idea for the patch. For some reason, the realization made this even harder.

"Looks like you're working hard," he finally called out. He tried to keep his voice calm, delaying the words he knew would have to be said.

She glanced up with a smile. "Hey. I _thought _I was being watched," she said slyly.

With a sad smile, he stepped into the cleared area, moving toward her.

"Feel like getting your hands dirty?" she asked playfully. "I know you probably don't believe me, but this is actually fun."

He swallowed hard, willing himself not to break.

"Kate," he said softly.

She looked up again, curious. Then, seeing the expression on his face, she froze.

"Jack?" She settled back on her legs. "What is it? Is it Locke?"

He looked away, wishing to God it _was _Locke. He'd rather deal with a million crazy fanatical bald bastards than with _this_. He shook his head slightly.

"No. It isn't Locke."

"What, then?" She stood up slowly. "Oh, God...Did something happen to the raft? Are they...Are they okay?" There was a tremor of panic in her voice, and he knew, with a slight twinge of irritation, that she was thinking about Sawyer.

"They're fine." Slowly, he raised his eyes up from the ground to meet hers. "Kate..." He brought out haltingly. "The raft was picked up."

She drew in her breath. He could see her expression change as she continued to look at him. All the light seemed to fade from her eyes as she realized what this meant for her.

He went on. "A couple of helicopters landed on the beach about half an hour ago...you must not have heard it from back here."

"No," she said quietly, dully, as if she wasn't even aware of her words. She looked away. "I didn't hear it."

"There's an agent on board one of them." He said the words quietly, hoping to lessen the impact.

Kate smiled a bitter, painful smile. "Are they looking for me?"

Jack didn't say anything for a second. An answer wasn't really necessary, he supposed. She already knew what he would say.

"I wanted to find you first," he finally said.

She bit her lip and nodded, obviously trying to hold back tears. Realizing that she'd balled her hand into a fist upon standing up, she now unclasped it slowly. The guava seeds trickled from her palm and dropped to the ground. They both watched them fall and disappear under the dense undergrowth. The entire garden, which had looked so flourishing and established just a moment ago, now had a forlorn, inconsequential air. All their efforts wouldn't leave a dent. The jungle would reclaim it in a week.

Kate looked back up at him. "I guess... that's that." She tried to smile, but failed. Then she gazed into the jungle, and an idea flickered briefly across her face. The instinct to run was too strong.

He knew what she was thinking, and also that he couldn't let her do it. And although his torment was overwhelming, he made one last effort to stay strong.

"You can't, Kate." She turned back to him, and he saw her last hope fade away.

"I'll walk you back." He held out an arm to guide her.

"No," she said quickly, pulling away.

He was surprised and a little hurt.

"I don't want you to see it, Jack." Her voice was thick with unshed tears, and she spoke pleadingly. "I know everyone else is out there...and they'll all see it. But not _you_. Please."

He nodded. "I understand. I'll wait here."

They faced each other for a few more seconds, not knowing how to say goodbye.

"Well," Kate said. "I guess we should be celebrating, right? We're rescued."

He didn't answer. He didn't think he had it in him to make jokes right now.

"Bye, Jack," she whispered.

She started to walk away, but then an impulse seized her, and she stepped back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He hugged her back.

"Thank you."

Before he could ask what she was thanking him for, or even say goodbye, she'd turned and hurried off. The foliage was so thick that she disappeared from view almost immediately. Feeling a wave of sickness and loss wash over him, he sat down on the ground.

Without even noticing what he was doing, he started to pat down her newly-loosened soil on top of the fallen guava seeds.

* * *

Sawyer slumped in the chair across from where Kate slept on the couch, trying not to fall asleep himself. The morphine tablets had taken the edge off the pain, but they'd also knocked her out. He wished he could join her.

The puppy was sprawled across her legs, thrilled that somebody was willing to nap with him. Every so often his paws twitched as he dreamed. Sawyer almost envied the damn dog.

Suddenly, he jerked his head up from where it had been drooping against the back of the chair, alert now. He heard the unmistakable sound of car wheels crunching on gravel.

Going to the door quietly, he glanced at Kate one more time as he stepped out onto the porch. Before he would let Jack in, he had something to say to him.

He watched him pay the cab driver and come toward the porch. He looked tired, but still clean-cut and presentable, like always. He carried an overnight duffel bag and a small, black leather satchel.

As he came up the steps, the two of them stared at each other warily for a second.

"Feels like I was just here," Jack said.

"You _were_," Sawyer replied.

"And if memory serves me, I seem to recall you telling me that you hadn't seen Kate.. and didn't plan to." Jack smiled a little.

"What can I say, Doc...guess I don't get the gold star for honesty." He looked down at the satchel, curiously. "Thought those black doctor bags only existed in Mayberry."

"It's old...It belonged to my dad. I've never used it before...this is my first house call." He raised his eyebrows a little. "Or at least it will be, if you ever decide to let me in."

"Yeah..._about that_." Sawyer spoke sarcastically. "Before we go inside, I thought I'd give you a little heads-up. You say anything to her about turnin' herself in, I'll beat the shit outta you."

Jack laughed silently. "Actually, I think that's what they call a _threat_, Sawyer."

"Call it whatever the hell you want. All I know is, last time you were here, she just about went off the deep end after hearin' all that crap about not bein' able to spend her life on the run, and how she should _do the right thing_, and whatever else it was you were spewin' out."

Jack looked at him in disbelief. "She _heard _that? Where _was _she?"

"Yeah, she heard it," Sawyer said, ignoring the last part of the question. "And it's too damn bad you weren't around for the aftershocks. Mighta done you good to see it."

Jack seemed to be thinking about this. He hadn't ever considered the possibility that Kate might have heard him talking. When he'd seen her clothes on the washer as he'd turned to go, it had dawned on him that she was mostly likely there somewhere. But not close enough to listen in.

He sighed. "Look, I'm here as a doctor, okay? The only advice I'll be giving is medical advice. Her life is...really none of my business."

"Glad to see you feel that way," Sawyer said. Now it was his turn to look a little chastened. "Come on in."

He opened the door and led Jack toward the kitchen, not wanting him to see Kate sleeping, for some reason. He reserved that pleasure for himself.

Jack set his two bags down on the table and looked around. "Where is she?"

"I'll get her in a minute," he said, delaying. He went toward the refrigerator. "You want a beer?"

Jack looked at him like he was crazy. "I'm most likely getting ready to operate, if Kate's arm is as bad as you said. You really think it's a good idea to offer me alcohol right now?"

Sawyer turned away, irritated more than ever by what he perceived as Jack's holier-than-thou tendencies. He grabbed a can for himself and popped the tab with a flourish. To his dismay, the can exploded with a loud hiss and before he could jerk it away, some of the foam had sprayed onto his shirt. "Son-of-a-bitch!" Of all times, of course this would happen _now_.

Jack covered his mouth and made a sincere effort not to smile.

Sawyer savagely yanked a dishtowel from the sink and wiped off his arms and hands, glaring at him.

"Jack?"

The voice came from the doorway, softly.

They both turned at the same time. The expression on Jack's face changed almost immediately, and he had to catch his breath. He'd completely forgotten how beautiful she was.

The three of them remained frozen for a few seconds. Then Kate uprooted her feet and moved toward Jack, embracing him with both arms, even the sore one.

Sawyer stepped back, out of the way. But it didn't really matter. He could see that, as far as the two of them were concerned, he might as well not have been in the room.


	29. Chapter 29

Don't freak out, people! I haven't spent 28 chapters making Sawyer and Kate fall in love only to turn this into a Jate fic. My heart is Skater, all the way. ;)

**MistyX:** No, it wouldn't make a difference if you were a writer, but if you aren't, you should consider trying it - because you think like one.

**agentalana:** I explain about the Knoxville/Nashville thing in this chapter. I'm glad somebody knows Tennessee geography - it makes me feel less insane about stressing over the details. Lol.

**AmethystProngs:** Should Kate already have scars on her arms? I don't know...am I forgetting something about Kate's past? I'm confused.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Kate pulled back, dropping her arms and looking at Jack with a glow of pleasure, despite the discomfort she was still in.

"It's really good to see you," she said, and it was impossible to mistake the sincerity in her tone.

"You too," Jack replied with a crooked half-smile.

They regarded each other for a second, curiously, like old classmates reunited at a high school reunion. In a strange way, that was sort of what this felt like.

Suddenly, their attention was distracted by a sound coming from the doorway - a funny, high-pitched growl. They glanced over. The puppy stood looking at Jack, his tiny teeth bared, the hair above his shoulders raised and bristling. Since he was so small, the posture was more amusing than anything else, but Kate was still embarrassed.

"Gus!" she said in a reproving tone of voice. Then she looked at Sawyer, who had remained silent till this point. "Can't you make him stop?"

"What?" he said defensively, enjoying this. "Ain't that what we got him for...to protect you from _intruders_?" He pointedly emphasized the last word, angling his head toward Jack.

Kate closed her eyes for a second, and then stared at Sawyer with a fixed, meaningful look, willing him not to make a scene.

Giving in but holding her gaze challengingly, he walked over and scooped up the dog, carrying him over to the pantry to shut him in. Gus kept his wary eyes fastened on Jack the entire time.

As Sawyer set him down on the floor, he grinned secretly and gave him an extra-friendly scratch, reminding himself to mix the leftover chicken in the fridge with his dog food later. The damn pup deserved it after that little display.

"It's just that he never sees anyone but us," Kate said in explanation.

"It's okay," Jack said. "I'm sure you need all the help you can get."

Kate tensed at this reference to her fugitive status, glancing quickly at Sawyer as he stepped away from the pantry. He looked annoyed, and as if he might say something rude, so Kate hurriedly changed the subject.

"How have you been, Jack? You look so...clean, and...not sweaty."

He returned her smile. "Same for you. It's nice to have showers again, isn't it?"

"Yeah. That's one thing about the island that I _don't _miss."

"Hopefully not the _only _thing," Sawyer said with derision.

Jack studied Kate carefully, and then said in an approving tone, "You look like you've gained some weight, too."

"Oh," Kate said, surprised. "Well..."

Realizing the mistake he'd just made, Jack immediately became embarrassed. "Of course, that's the doctor in me talking, Kate. I didn't mean anything... Actually, you were too thin before... on the island. All I meant was that...you look _good_." He stopped, feeling how warm his face was.

"Nice one, doc," Sawyer muttered.

"It's fine," Kate said, trying not to laugh. "I knew what you meant, Jack."

"So," Jack went on, anxious to move to a safer subject. "Sawyer tells me you had a little accident with your arm."

"Yeah... you could call it that. It was stupid, really. I was climbing around on this..." She swallowed, her words cut off. Sawyer watched her closely, noticing that she seemed to be getting more pale by the second. She tried again. "I was climbing on a bed frame..." She halted again, a strange expression on her face. "I'm sorry." She looked up at Jack, awkwardly. "I just... feel a little dizzy, all of a sudden." Her voice trembled, and she looked around, searching for something to brace herself on.

Sawyer immediately moved toward her, but Jack was closer. He'd already pulled out a chair from the table.

"Here, sit down."

She collapsed into the chair, her face as white as a sheet. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Put your head between your knees, Kate... It'll help the dizziness pass," Jack advised her.

She followed his directions, saying, "It's probably just the morphine wearing off."

"Morphine?"

"Sawyer had some." Her voice sounded muffled. "Pills," she added.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jack asked, shaking his head. Sawyer gave him a withering look.

Kate continued to lean over for a few more seconds, then raised up, slowly.

"Better?"

Without opening her eyes yet, she nodded briefly. "Yeah."

"I should probably go ahead and take a look at your arm... there's no sense in wasting time. But this isn't really the best place." Jack looked up at Sawyer. "Do you have a couch somewhere?"

Sawyer looked at him like he was an idiot. "What the hell do you think?"

"You mind telling me where it might _be_, Sawyer?" He was trying to be patient.

"It's in the_ living room_, Einstein. Where you keep yours at, next to the toilet?"

Kate sighed deeply. "I'll show you where it's at." She stood up, using the table for balance.

Placing his palm flat against her back to help her, Jack led her from the room, allowing her to point out the direction. Sawyer followed, feeling a dull, burning rage in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Jack's hand on Kate. He tried his best to control himself.

When they reached the living room, she sank down onto the couch, looking exhausted. Sawyer was fortunately distracted enough by worry to forget his anger for a minute. What the hell was causing her to deteriorate so quickly? Was it infection? Pain? Something else entirely? And what if Jack couldn't handle it here...what then? He settled nervously on the arm of the couch, right next to her, his leg pressed lightly against her left arm.

Jack perched on the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of Kate. Then he noticed Sawyer. Glancing up at him, he said, "Sawyer, do you mind?"

"Do I mind _what_?"

"Just because this is taking place in your house doesn't mean it isn't still a private examination, just like a regular doctor's visit." He looked back down, asking gallantly, "Do you want him in here, Kate?"

Sawyer fought the urge to just take a swing at Jack right that second. "Yeah, _Kate," _he repeated sarcastically. "Do you want me in here?"

She met his eyes, annoyed, but also noticing how miserable he looked. She suddenly felt defensive.

"It's okay," Kate said to Jack, quietly. "We..." She stopped, unsure how to say this. Sawyer waited expectantly. "We're, um..." She gestured from Sawyer to herself, her cheeks reddening slightly in spite of her pallor.

"Ah," Jack broke in, the truth dawning on him in a sudden flash of understanding. "I see. My mistake." He looked both disappointed and bitter, but he was able to cover these emotions within seconds.

The three of them sat there, a strained silence engulfing them.

Despite looking forward to this moment and imagining the ways in which it might play out, Sawyer had to admit to himself that this wasn't exactly what he'd expected. He didn't feel triumphant so much as vaguely relieved. He wished Jack hadn't interrupted her, though. He was curious to know what she'd been about to say.

Kate looked guilty. She seemed to be fighting the urge to say the words _I'm sorry_. If she did, Sawyer vowed he would never forgive her. But what she decided on was thankfully neutral.

"I didn't know if you knew or not," she almost whispered.

"No," Jack said, wiping his hand over his mouth quickly in an attempt to seem casual. "Suspected, maybe, but.. that's all."

Another awkward pause followed. Even Sawyer was uncomfortable. Damn it, this was supposed to be _fun_! He'd won, hadn't he? He'd gotten the girl! Maybe it would be easier if they weren't all so unbearably close to each other, in a fittingly ironic triangle formation between couch, coffee table, and arm rest.

"So... anyway," Kate finally muttered. "I'd like him to stay. At least while I'm conscious, anyway."

"All right. It's your choice," Jack said, in his best professional manner, trying to move to familiar ground. "Now, why don't we take a look?" He started to unwrap the cloth from her arm, but she pulled it back.

"Wait. Before you start this, Jack, I just want to make sure..." She bit her lip, looking hesitant and worried. "The last time you were here, you said that the FBI had been in contact with you. That...they were trying to get you to work with them, in order to find me." She looked at him closely. "Are you still...?" She trailed off.

"No," he replied decisively. "I haven't been approached by anybody in weeks. In fact, the last I heard, they were focusing the investigation on people you might have known _before _the island...not on any of us."

She looked relieved, but not entirely convinced.

"In fact," Jack went on, "they asked me specifically about everyone you were close with while we were stranded there. I told them that you and Sawyer hated each other... that you never got along, he bothered you all the time.. and that he'd be the last person in the world you'd ever ask for help." He looked amused. "I thought that might throw 'em off, buy you some time, at least."

"Oh," Kate said, not exactly sure how to respond. "Okay."

Sawyer didn't know whether to be grateful or pissed off. He decided not to say anything.

"But just because they haven't made contact doesn't mean they aren't still keeping tabs on you, though, right?" Kate pressed. "Don't you think they might get a little suspicious if they notice you made _another _trip to Tennessee?"

"I considered that. That's why I didn't fly into Knoxville. There's a medical conference going on in Nashville this week, so I registered... signed up for a few of the seminars, just to cover my tracks. Of course, I don't plan on attending, but I doubt they'll check that closely. If they _are _still watching me, that is. But I really don't think they are." He tried to look reassuring.

"That was a smart idea," Kate said, with a hint of a smile.

Sawyer rolled his eyes. _Anybody _could have thought of that.

"But we'll have time to talk about everything later," Jack said. "Right now, I think we should probably just focus on that arm."

Kate nodded, holding her wrist back out to him grimly. "Go for it."

He carefully unwrapped the bandage. Sawyer and Kate watched his face. They already knew how bad it looked, but they wanted to see what his reaction would be.

There was just the faintest flicker of concern in his expression. But like any doctor, he maintained a calm, unreadable demeanor, examining the arm closely, turning it first one way and then the other to catch the light.

"What happened here?" he asked in an even tone, indicating the lacerated and churned up section that they'd already tried to remove the metal from.

"We... tried to do that one ourselves. Last night," Kate said in a small voice.

"With what, a butcher knife?" Jack asked with a wry look.

When there was no answer, he looked up.

"Yeah," Kate said, embarrassed.

"It was her idea," Sawyer muttered. She shot him a comically betrayed look.

Jack looked from one to the other and shook his head. "It's a good thing you called." He turned his attention back to the arm.

"So what do you think?" Sawyer finally asked, unable to stand the wait any longer. "Can you fix it, or not?"

Jack nodded. "I think so. You'll be fine, Kate," he added, turning to her. "It'll be sore for a few days, and I'll have to get you on some antibiotics, but it should be just fine."

She breathed out in relief. "That's good. So you just...take the metal out, and stitch up the openings?" She paused, looking troubled. "I don't have to _watch _it, do I?"

Jack smiled. "You know, I think you're a lot less squeamish than you give yourself credit for. After all, you delivered a baby, if you recall."

"Not by choice," Kate answered, but looking pleased all the same.

"And of course, you managed to sew _me _up with embroidery floss only a few minutes after the plane crashed. I guess this is my chance to return the favor, right?"

"I hadn't thought about it that way."

They shared a meaningful look. Sawyer felt like puking.

"But to answer your question," Jack continued. "No, you won't have to watch it. Obviously, I won't be able to put you completely under, since I don't have the equipment to hook up an IV or to monitor your breathing and heart rate. But I _will _give you something to relax you, and you'll probably fall asleep. I'll also numb the arm with a local anesthetic, so you shouldn't feel anything at all. Okay?"

"Okay," she nodded, trying to take all this in.

"Let me just go get my stuff. Be right back." Jack disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

Kate looked up at Sawyer, meeting his eyes. She leaned against his side, and he smoothed her hair down. They didn't say anything.

A few seconds later, Jack returned with the black leather bag. Setting it down in the floor in front of the table, he rummaged through it, extracting a small case. Opening the case, he pulled out a needle and syringe, testing the amount of liquid in it.

"That's a really big needle, Jack," Kate said, trying to sound detached.

He smiled. "You don't like needles?"

"Does anybody?" she responded dryly.

"No," he admitted. "But..." He laid the needle down on the coffee table and took out another one. "Some people have more of a problem with them than others."

"Then I guess I'm one of those people."

"I have a hard time believing that," Jack said, laying this needle beside the other one. He withdrew one more.

"That's three," Kate said, sounding worried.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said a local anesthetic, and something to relax me. So...what's with the three needles?"

"Well," Jack said. "Sawyer mentioned that you hadn't had a tetanus shot since you were twelve. Is that true?"

"Oh," Kate answered casually. "Actually, I got to thinking about it this morning, and I remembered that I _did _get one, when I was eighteen. I just forgot about it."

"You sure?" Jack asked.

"Yeah." She nodded.

"All right, then." He started to put the third needle back in the case.

Sawyer was watching her too closely, though.

"She's lying," he announced.

Kate turned toward him, sharply. "Sawyer!"

"_What_? You really wanna take a chance with this? You want to get lockjaw, or whatever the hell it's called? I know you ain't _that _stupid. "

She turned to Jack, annoyed. "Is that even real? Lockjaw?"

"Well, the medical term is tetanus, but yeah, the condition is real. It causes your muscles to become rigid and lock up, and it usually starts with the neck and jaw. It's a myth that it's caused by rusted metal, though... It's actually caused by the tetanus bacteria that get into the wound itself. Of course, sometimes they can be on the metal to _begin _with. But if it gets bad enough, it can cause seizures or heart failure."

Kate looked miserable.

"See?" Sawyer asked, feeling vindicated.

"So," Jack said, looking at her with concern, "If it really _has _been over ten years, then I'd feel a lot better if you'd let me give you the injection, Kate."

"Fine," she said shortly. "Where at?"

Jack seemed confused. "In here is fine."

She smiled. "No, I meant, where... _on me_?"

"Oh," Jack said, feeling like an idiot. Sawyer couldn't hold back a small snort of derision.

"Well, we have two choices. We can use your arm, since it's already sore anyway," he said as he touched the bicep of her right arm. "Or, the other option is your upper thigh, on whichever side you want." His fingers now lightly tapped the extreme upper portion of her leg, on the side where it met the couch.

Sawyer watched with his teeth gritted. "The arm," he said quickly, loudly.

Kate looked up at him, embarrassed but also understanding. She smiled a little, and looked back at Jack. "I guess we'll go with the arm."

"All right," Jack nodded. "After I get the metal out, I'll put it in a sling, so it shouldn't give you too much trouble."

He rolled up the sleeve of her three-quarter length shirt and swabbed an area with alcohol, then picked up the first needle.

Taking a deep breath and hoping Jack wouldn't notice, Kate reached up surreptitiously and grasped Sawyer's hand. The simple gesture flooded him with a feeling that he couldn't even define. He squeezed her fingers.

Looking down at the part in her hair, he asked in a falsely casual tone of voice, "You know you got freckles all over the top of your head?"

"I do not," she said with a tense smile, turning toward him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sawyer, cringing, saw the first needle go in, like a dart in a dartboard. Kate gripped his hand tighter.

"And how the hell would you know?" he went on. "You ever _seen _the top of your head?"

"_No_," she admitted. The second needle was inserted, and he covered her hand with his other one and rubbed circles over the top of it.

"Well all right then," he said, as if he'd won his case. "I guess you'll just have to take my word for it, won't ya? Looks like a goddamn connect-the-dots board."

"Liar," she grinned. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes as the third and last needle was punched in.

"Maybe someday I'll have to get me a magic marker and see what I can do with those," Sawyer said contemplatively.

"Just try it," she said warningly.

Jack withdrew the third needle. "Okay, all done."

Sawyer breathed out in relief, and he felt Kate's hand go limp in his. At first, he thought she was just relaxing since the shots were over, but then she slumped over against him.

"Wow..." She said in a shaky voice. "Jack?"

"It's all right," he said reassuringly. "It might take effect pretty fast, especially if you haven't eaten anything today. If you feel lightheaded or dizzy, you can just go ahead and lie down, close your eyes."

But her eyes were already closing. She struggled to open them, raising her left arm but then letting it drop futilely.

"I really hate this feeling," she said in a slurred voice, sounding as if she'd been betrayed.

"I'm sorry, Kate," Jack said softly. "I thought you didn't want to be awake for this."

Sawyer got off the arm rest and lifted her gently, repositioning her in a reclined position on the couch. Jack handed over a pillow from the other end to place under her head. "I'm not even tired," Kate mumbled bitterly, unable to keep her eyes open.

"Just give it a few minutes," Jack said, trying not to smile.

They waited a while. Just when they were convinced she was asleep, she said out of nowhere, "Don't forget the list this time, Sawyer."

"What list?" he asked, startled.

"The _shopping _list." She sounded irritated, although she still hadn't opened her eyes once.

Sawyer looked at Jack, alarmed.

"It's okay," he said in a low voice. "I should have mentioned that it might make her a little disoriented before she drops off. Just...humor her. She'll fall asleep in a second."

He turned back to her, shaking his head. "I won't forget the list."

"You _always _forget it," she muttered accusingly.

"I got it right here in my pocket, all right? I won't forget it!" He was getting annoyed, which was completely ridiculous, since the list they were arguing about didn't even exist.

"You should get more condoms, too. You never get enough."

He glanced quickly over at Jack, in shock. Jack cleared his throat and continued making preparations, pretending he hadn't heard. Although Sawyer felt somewhat embarrassed on Kate's behalf, knowing how much she would have hated Jack hearing that, he couldn't help enjoying the situation, just a little.

"I'll buy out the whole damn store," he said with a mischievous grin.

She sighed. "Turn the lamp off."

He looked around. There were no lamps on. "All right. It's off," he said good-naturedly.

But she didn't respond. Jack leaned over and felt her pulse and then peered closely into her face. "Okay. She's out."

Sawyer stood up, hesitantly. "You need anything else?"

"Yeah, I'll take that beer now, if the offer's still good."

He stared at him blankly.

Jack looked up with amusement. "That was a joke, Sawyer."

He rolled his eyes. "You're one hell of a comedian, Doc."

He started out, then turned at the doorway with a cocky smile. "If she wakes up, don't tell her what she said." He knew Jack would understand what he was referring to.

Jack nodded, looking mildly disgusted. "Don't worry. I'm just hoping that I can forget it, too."

Sawyer went into the kitchen to wait, knowing that there was no way in _hell _Jack would be able to forget that particular comment, and feeling unabashedly happy about the fact.

* * *

He waited for what felt like hours, eventually going outside to pace around the house a few times, but then coming quietly back into the kitchen. He was exhausted after getting no sleep last night, but he found it impossible to rest now. The house was completely silent - not a single sound came from the living room.

At least twenty times, he considered going in to see how things were progressing, but then talked himself out of it. What if he surprised Jack and the knife slipped? What if he got her damn artery? It could happen. He remembered the sickening gush of blood from his own artery when Sayid had stabbed him, and the thought of it happening to Kate made him ill. He sat down again to wait, sighing impatiently.

Finally, just when he was convinced that something must have gone terribly wrong, Jack appeared in the doorway, looking tired but with an air of muted accomplishment.

"Well?" Sawyer asked when he didn't say anything.

"Everything's fine. I got all the pieces out, and there probably won't be any scars... except for maybe the part _you _did."

Sawyer narrowed his eyes with scorn and looked away. "How long till she wakes up?"

"Probably not long...it wasn't a strong enough dose."

"Well then," Sawyer said with an air of finality. "Guess you'll be hittin' the road, huh?"

Jack looked like he thought this was funny. "Not quite yet," he said. His tone, however, said _Nice try_. "I'll have to check everything once she wakes up, make sure her pulse is stable, check all her vitals... I also need to ask if she's allergic to any antibiotics, so I can write out the prescription."

Sawyer exhaled wearily.

"I thought I'd go outside, take a walk," Jack went on. "Is there any way down to the lake from here?"

"Yeah. Path out behind the shed," he answered grudgingly.

Jack nodded. "Why don't you go in and sit with her, keep an eye on her breathing. If anything changes, just come outside and yell."

"Sounds reliable. That what they teach you in med school?

Jack sighed, not answering. Sawyer unlocked the door for him and let him out.

* * *

When he finally came back in, he headed toward the living room, anxious to see whether she was awake or not. He was angry at himself for his eagerness, especially since he'd just spent the last half hour trying to detach himself from her, willing himself not to think about the new information he'd recently learned.

Of course, it wasn't as if he hadn't considered the possibility. They'd been living together for almost two months, after all. And even back on the island, there'd been no denying that she was drawn to Sawyer. But deep down, he'd still held out hope that..._what_? He didn't know what. Every time he got too close to thinking about it, he forced himself to back away.

But that was much easier when he wasn't directly confronted with it, as he was now when he approached the doorway into the living room. He stopped, knowing he should go back down the hall or at least make some noise to alert them. But he didn't yet.

She was awake, sitting up, propped against the arm rest on her left side. Sawyer was helping her to drink from a glass of water, holding the bottom of it while she weakly gripped it with her left hand. Their lack of coordination caused water to dribble down her chin, and she laughed. He sat the glass down while she wiped her mouth on her shirt without reserve. Sawyer whispered something to her that Jack couldn't make out, and Kate stared at him intently, with an uninhibited passion that was difficult to watch. There was no mistaking that look; it was the look of someone in love.

It was the expression on Sawyer's face, however, that really surprised him. If this wasn't so painful, he might have laughed. All the old ferocity and aggressiveness were still present in his countenance, but they seemed to be channeled toward a new object. He wore his protectiveness like a badly-fitted suit of new clothes, as if he hadn't quite adjusted to it yet. They both seemed vaguely frightened, unsure of the rules of the game, still hoping to make up the guidelines as they went along. It made Jack nervous just to look at them.

As they leaned toward each other to kiss, he forced himself to turn away. He could only handle so much.

He came back a few minutes later, making more noise this time. Kate looked up and smiled as he entered. Sawyer didn't look as irritated as he had earlier.

"How do you feel?" Jack asked.

"Like my head is stuffed with cotton," she said, grimacing. "But other than that, fine. I can't feel my arm at all."

"Well," he said, sitting down beside her. "That won't last, unfortunately. But I'll write you a prescription for some mild painkillers along with the antibiotics, just in case it flares up too badly."

"Thank you, Jack."

She was apparently saying thank you for the painkillers, but the repetition of the words she'd said to him just before she'd left him on the island caused a twisting sensation in his gut. He swallowed, wondering if she remembered that scene. Apparently not.

"You're welcome." He dropped his eyes, sadly. "Then, after that, I'll have Sawyer drive me over to the closest hotel. If he doesn't mind."

"Don't have no problem with that," Sawyer said, happily. Jack could tell he'd be relieved when he was gone.

"What?" Kate said. "You're not staying in a hotel. You can stay here. There's plenty of room." She looked at Sawyer, and he glared back at her, to no effect. "Besides," she turned back to Jack. "You said we'd have a chance to talk later. Remember?"

"Kate," he said gently. "I just don't think it's the best idea, under the circumstances..." he trailed off.

"What circumstances? I thought you said you didn't think they were monitoring you?"

Those weren't even _remotely _the circumstances he'd had in mind, but it was a less embarrassing alternative, so he played along.

"I don't, but still...you never know."

"Jack." She stopped, looking hurt. "Who knows when we'll get another chance to see each other?"

He started to relent. It was too hard to see that look in her eyes. With a slight smile, he said, "I don't think Sawyer shares that concern."

"No, he wants you to stay, too." Kate looked at Sawyer fiercely. "_Right_? They stared at each other in wordless debate, until Sawyer finally sighed heavily, looking away in defeat.

"Make yourself at home, Doc," he said sarcastically.

Kate smiled, victorious. "It'll be just like old times."

Jack and Sawyer both inwardly cringed. After all, wasn't that exactly what they were afraid of?


	30. Chapter 30

I'll be the first to warn you guys that this chapter isn't much to speak of...I just wanted to have a little fun with the three of them. The next chapter after this one, Thirty-One, is where most of the angst and emotion will come out... where Kate will actually deal with things. (And don't worry, Jack isn't staying long - he's got a plane to catch tomorrow.)

I know I'm missing questions that I wanted to respond to, but I have to run... If I don't leave now, I'll miss my ride! I'll try to get to them next time... Thanks so much for reviewing!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty**

Kate opened her eyes and was confused at first to see the ceiling of the living room... again. Hadn't this already happened once today? She turned her head slowly and looked around. Jack sat in an upholstered chair a few feet away, watching her.

"Hey," she said. "How did I fall asleep again?"

"It happened pretty fast," he replied, smiling a little. "You were talking about the dog, and then you said you felt tired, and within seconds, you were out."

"I'm sorry," she said, seeming embarrassed.

"Don't be," he said. "It takes a while for the effects of the drugs to wear off completely, and I'm sure you didn't get much sleep last night, anyway."

"No," she agreed. "More than Sawyer, though." She looked around again. "Where is he?"

"He went to get the prescription filled. I'd like you to get started on those antibiotics right away, just to be on the safe side. Your arm was pretty infected," he added, looking serious.

"I know," she said quietly.

There was a slight lull in the conversation.

Then Kate began again. "Who did you...?" She awkwardly tried to pull herself into a sitting position, using only her left arm since her right was bound tightly against her in a sling.

Getting up, Jack moved quickly over to help her.

"Thanks," she said, their eyes meeting. "Who did you write the prescription for? I mean, what name did you use?"

Jack sat down nearer to her. "Sawyer suggested we use the name _Margaret Ford_." When Kate seemed confused, he went on. "He said it was his aunt..."

"Oh," she interrupted, understanding now. "Aunt Meg. Okay."

"You know her?" Jack asked, surprised.

"Yeah," she said, wishing that she hadn't said that. "She was here about a week ago, visiting." She hadn't meant to make herself and Sawyer sound so _domestic_, but there wasn't really any other way to spin the visit of an aunt.

"She didn't stay long," Kate added, as if that somehow made it different.

Jack nodded, and she thought she detected sadness in his expression.

As she listened to the cool autumn rain beating against the windows, she felt a slight draft, and although she tried to prevent it, she shivered a little. Jack noticed, of course.

"You cold?"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"It does seem a little chilly in here," he said, ignoring her. "Where's the thermostat?"

"It's in the hall, but... it's broken. I mean, the heater doesn't work...right now," she went on. "We've just been using the fireplace."

"Oh."

She could see that he looked concerned, and it bothered her for some reason. It felt like a judgment. Not just of her, but of Sawyer as well. It made her feel defensive, like she needed to justify things.

"It hasn't been that cold yet," she said. "He's going to get it fixed, soon. Things have been kind of crazy lately."

"I can imagine," Jack said, in what he obviously meant to be an understanding tone.

There was another pause, and they looked at each other. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but how could any of it be said? Where to begin? And would it be safer for both of them if they didn't even try it?

Jack seemed to be experiencing similar doubts. Hesitantly, he began to speak.

"Kate. There's something I was meaning to tell you..."

Just then, they both heard the sound of the kitchen door being opened and then shut, loudly.

Jack looked away, defeated, with a small, ironic smile.

"We'll talk later," Kate reassured him quickly, just before Sawyer came into the room, still dripping rainwater.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, looking from one to the other with a roguish grin. "Hope you two been behavin' yourselves."

Kate closed her eyes for a second in embarrassment and wished he was close enough to elbow, hard. But, in fact, he seemed to be in a pretty good mood. Well, a good mood for _Sawyer_, anyway, which was a different breed of good mood than that of the average person's. He was probably feeling a burden lifted off his shoulders, since she was apparently on the mend.

"They give you any trouble at the pharmacy?" Jack asked, ignoring his comment.

"Nope," he said. "Just some damn kid... Girl was probably more concerned about her nipple ring than she was about illegal prescriptions."

Kate looked over at him sharply.

"What?" he asked in a defensive tone. "I could see it through her shirt!"

He came around behind the couch and dropped the bag onto her lap. "And how's Miss Narcolepsy?" Bending over, he gave her a peck on the cheek. "You keep passin' out like that, you're gonna have to start wearin' a helmet."

"It won't happen again," she said with smile. "Will it?" she asked Jack.

"Probably not. But I'd hold off on those painkillers for a few hours, just in case. The antibiotics you can go ahead and start now."

Kate looked up at Sawyer with raised eyebrows. "Would you get me a glass of water?"

He sighed, trying to sound annoyed. "Sure thing, princess. Just call me errand-boy." Starting toward the kitchen, he held up his hand. "No, don't get up," he said to Jack, who had shown no signs of getting up. "Allow me."

When he'd gone, Kate, with a slight grimace, attempted to explain. "He gets like this sometimes."

"I remember," Jack said, looking vaguely amused.

Using her left hand to rip open the top of the pharmacy bag, which had been stapled shut, Kate pulled out the first bottle, glancing at the label. _Hydrocodone_. The pain pills. She reached in again and grabbed the other bottle. This one was the penicillin. She started to wad the bag up, but its weight stopped her. There was still something inside. Opening it up again, she pulled out a round, flat plastic case. It looked like a powder compact, only it was a little too big. Her face registered confusion. Sawyer wouldn't buy her _makeup_. She flipped it over to see the label and her cheeks reddened at the instant of realizing what it was. _Birth-control pills_. She glanced up quickly at Jack, who was watching her with an awkward, hesitant expression.

"I know it's not my place, Kate... But I didn't know if you would have another chance..." he trailed off. "If you think it's out of line, then I apologize. I was only trying to help." He looked miserably uncomfortable.

"Jack," she whispered with a strained laugh. "I... I don't even know what to say." She looked up at him, imploringly, feeling the heat radiate from her face.

"You don't have to say anything. If you do decide to use them, then just make sure you wait until after your next..."

"I know," she interrupted quickly. She smiled, looking back down again. "I know," she repeated in a quieter voice.

Incongruously, she felt tears spring to her eyes, and she tried to hold them back. The fact that he could do a thing like this, _for her_, despite what he felt about Sawyer... It was almost too much. _How do you say thank you for something like this_? she wondered. _Especially when you know you don't deserve it?_

She hurriedly replaced the case as she heard Sawyer's footsteps coming back down the hall. She assumed that he didn't know about it, since the bag had still been stapled. To tell him now would only piss him off and spoil his good mood. She knew that, instead of seeing it as a favor for _her_, he would be more likely to view it as Jack's attempt to keep _him_, Sawyer, from procreating. With an inward smile at the thought of his outraged reaction, she decided to wait until Jack was gone to let him know.

As Sawyer came into the room, she locked gazes with Jack one more time and tried to convey her appreciation without words. She thought he understood.

Sawyer handed her the water, and she set it on the coffee table. She felt his eyes on her as she picked up the antibiotics with her left hand and tried to open them. Sighing in frustration, she handed the pill bottle up to him.

"All right, but I hope you know, I'm gonna add this to your bill," he said, grinning. He popped open the vial and shook out a pill, placing it gently in the palm of her hand.

"Just put it on my account," she said, smiling back at him.

Kate _hated _being sick or injured. But she had to admit, it was almost worth it to see the sense of fulfilled relevance it gave Sawyer. She knew that his irritation was nothing but an act. He loved taking care of her. In fact, he was never more happy than when he was needed, probably because it was such a new and unprecedented pleasure for him. It was something she tried never to forget.

She tossed the pill back into her throat and swallowed some of the water. As she set the glass back down, Jack spoke.

"Sawyer, where do you keep the wood at?"

Sawyer looked at him like he was crazy. "Why, you wanna build somethin', doc? Gonna whip us up a little ark while you're here?"

"He means for the _fireplace_," Kate said, rolling her eyes. "And it's on the porch, Jack. But you don't need to do that."

"Are _you _gonna do it then?" Sawyer asked her with a wink.

"No, _you _are," she said with emphasis.

"Think so, huh?"

"It's fine, Kate," Jack interrupted, standing up. "I don't mind at all. You're letting me stay here, so it's the least I can do."

"You hear that, Freckles? He says he don't mind."

Kate sighed heavily as Jack left the room. Sawyer kneeled down in front of her, still with a gleam in his eyes but looking a little sheepish.

"I thought you said you would try not to be rude."

"Believe the key word there is _try_, sweetheart."

"Has it even occurred to you that you're not in competition with him anymore? You don't have any reason to be such an ass. You know, if you gave him a chance, you two might even like each other."

Sawyer ducked his head, saying in a laughing voice, "I wouldn't go _quite _that far."

Kate shook her head slowly, giving up. Considering how luckless and ill-fated her past had been, it seemed almost fitting that the two most important men in her life wouldn't be able to stand each other. Otherwise, it would have been just too easy.

Standing up, she held out her hand to Sawyer. "Come with me."

"Uh-oh," he said with exaggerated dread. "Looks like I'm in trouble now."

She smiled, unable to help herself. "Not exactly. I just need your help."

He pulled himself off the floor, looking intrigued. "With what?"

She was embarrassed. Not meeting his eyes, she said with reluctance, "I have to pee. And I don't think I can get these jeans unbuttoned with my left hand."

"Well now," he said with a grin, putting his arm around her and leading her from the room. "It just so happens that I'm an expert in that field."

* * *

Although he never would have admitted it, Kate could tell that Sawyer was at least making more of an effort to be a polite host as the evening progressed. They ordered pizzas for dinner, and she listened, trying to restrain a smile, as the two of them had an awkward argument about who should pay. (Sawyer finally won out, but Jack insisted on covering the delivery tip.)

Then, before the food arrived, he even attempted to get the dog to accept Jack's presence. It didn't go over very well; Gus seemed to have formed an immediate aversion to Jack upon first contact that wasn't going to be remedied by any later efforts. But he at least relinquished his hostility, resigning himself to the presence of the doctor with an air of subdued, wary tolerance.

When dinner was finally delivered they sat at the kitchen table, the boxes opened in front of them, and Kate pretended to have more of an appetite than she really did so that neither of them would worry about her.

Jack watched with amusement as Sawyer picked every single pepper, onion, mushroom, and olive off his slice, then piled on extra meat.

"You have something against vegetables, Sawyer?"

Kate sighed. "He tries to avoid them whenever possible."

"Not all of 'em," he said defensively. "Finally came around on that artichoke crap, didn't I?"

Surprised, she smiled at him, almost proudly. "You actually got it right that time... I can't believe it."

They shared a sly look filled with unreadable references and hidden meanings. Jack seemed confused.

Kate turned to him, trying to explain. "He usually calls it _asparagus_, and I always have to tell him that it's _artichoke_..." she trailed off, lamely, noticing that Jack still didn't seem to get it. "I guess you had to be there."

"Apparently," he said, nodding.

"So, Jack," Sawyer asked after the pause had continued too long. "You get your old job back?"

"Yeah, same hospital," he replied. "I even got a promotion, in fact. Evidently it helps if they think you've died." He smiled wryly.

"I'm sure being famous doesn't hurt, either," Kate said, taking a tiny bite and chewing slowly.

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'fame,'" he said, uncomfortably.

"You wouldn't?" Sawyer asked with sarcasm. "Barbara Walters sure don't seem to think so. Saw you on TV flirtin' with her a couple months back."

Kate rolled her eyes, but Jack was prepared this time.

"Actually, all she wanted to talk about was you, Sawyer. She was wondering whether you were single or not."

Kate and Sawyer both stopped chewing and looked at him with incredulous expressions.

Jack lowered his head and grinned, triumphant. "Kidding."

Kate laughed, and even Sawyer looked amused, but he tried to cover it with a long swig of beer.

"You got a girlfriend?" he asked a few seconds later in counterattack.

Kate was horrified. "Sawyer," she said quietly, with her teeth gritted.

"What? I'm just makin' small talk."

"Uh, sort of," Jack answered awkwardly. Kate glanced up at him and then just as quickly lowered her eyes. "I've been seeing somebody, but it's not.. it's not serious." He took a drink.

"She a _nurse_?" Sawyer asked, with a slight hint of derision in his tone.

"No. She's uh... she's a pediatrician. Do you want that last slice?"

Sawyer pushed the box toward him, still not willing to change the subject.

"Pediatrician and a surgeon," he said in a mock-thoughtful voice. "Just like a fairy tale, ain't it, Freckles?"

Kate narrowed her eyes at him in warning, but then stopped when she saw Jack looking at her curiously. Was he wondering how she was taking the news? She really didn't know what to think about it. She should be relieved, right? Wouldn't that be the most _rational _reaction, given the circumstances? Now she found herself beginning to dread the conversation she'd promised him they'd have later, instead of looking forward to it as she had been.

"How's your mom?" she asked, in order to think about something else.

"She's...been better," Jack said slowly. "The day that started off with her learning that my father had died ended with her hearing about the plane crash, so... she basically lost both of us at the same time. It's been a little hard for her to adjust to having me back - to the shock of it all. But, she's improving, I think."

"I'm sorry," Kate almost whispered. "That must have been so terrible for her." Sawyer looked down at his plate, silent. None of them spoke for a few seconds.

Kate thought for the first time that maybe she and Sawyer had actually been _lucky_, in a way, that they hadn't had anybody who cared enough about them to grieve.

As she tried desperately to think of a subject that wouldn't be embarrassing or painful for any of them, the decision was made for her, terrifyingly, by a knock at the front door.

Jack didn't seem immediately worried, but Kate and Sawyer looked at each other in paralyzed dread.

"Well, at least we know it ain't Jack this time," Sawyer said, standing up simultaneously with Kate.

"Do you think he should hide, too?" she asked breathlessly, automatically heading for the pantry.

There was really no time to consider. "Yeah," Sawyer said. "Just the fact that he's here might be suspicious enough to tip 'em off."

"Jack!" She gestured for him to follow her, which he did, quickly.

"What's the plan?" he asked, sounding a little left out.

Sawyer pulled back the cellar door and then stood up, reaching for something on a high shelf above the washing machine. It was a gun. He held it out towards Jack, looking him in the eye, thinking with irony how their positions were reversed from the last time they'd seen each other on the island.

Jack hesitated. Kate watched him, fascinated and tortured. Even though they were in a frantic hurry, this moment seemed drawn out and almost frozen. His decision had the power to alter his life forever. Either he would defend her, with all the risks that entailed... or he wouldn't.

"You want it or not?" Sawyer asked impatiently. The knocking came again.

Jack took the gun. Kate exhaled a shaky breath.

"You go first... I'll hand her down to you." With her right arm in a sling, it would take too long for Kate to try to maneuver down the ladder.

Jack was at the bottom in seconds, and in a flash, Sawyer had grasped her around the waist and lowered her down to his outstretched hands. She looked up at Sawyer, swallowing back tears. They hadn't even had a chance to say anything.

He closed the door over their heads and she and Jack were immediately plunged into blackness. She heard Sawyer hook the latch and replace the rug, then head off toward the front door.

She settled tentatively back against the ladder, half sitting and half standing, needing it for support. Jack kept his hands on her shoulders, guiding her. There was not even the faintest sliver of light. It was the most suffocating, unmitigated darkness imaginable. She'd experienced it only once before - when Jack had been there the last time, in fact. Then, she'd been distracted by the conversation in the kitchen, and had kept her eyes closed and listened. Now, she fought against a rising tide of panic.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," she said, her voice wavering badly.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. If there's somebody out there, then it's my fault. I should have been more careful." He sounded bitter.

"No," she said, shaking her head vehemently, although she knew he couldn't see it. "This is all because of me. ALL of it," she said loudly.

"Shh.. Kate, try to take deep breaths, okay?"

"Listen to me, Jack..."

"Just take a deep breath, and then let it out..."

"Listen to me!"

He stopped and sighed, waiting.

"If they find this place... this cellar... then I want you to give me the gun. We're gonna pretend that I took you hostage, all right? That I _made _you come down here..."

"Forget it," he said immediately.

"No!" she said forcefully. "Please, Jack... _please_. There isn't any choice. I won't let you put yourself in danger for me... I've made that mistake before, and..." She started to sob, remembering Tom. "I won't let this happen again. I won't let you die again."

"You're not making any sense, Kate," he said gently, concerned. He raised his hands to the sides of her face.

"Promise me," she pleaded.

"All right," he agreed, willing to say anything to get her to calm down. "I'll give you the gun. I promise. But hopefully, it won't come to that. Now, we need to try to stay quiet, all right?"

She leaned against his shoulder, trying to stifle her emotion. There was still so much she wanted to say to him, but would they even get the chance now? They both waited, tensed and desperate, for what felt like hours.

"Can you hear anything?" Kate whispered.

"No," he answered truthfully. The silence was overwhelming, so thick that it seemed almost loud.

Finally, when she thought she would snap and begin screaming uncontrollably if she had to endure this waiting any longer, there was a sound of footsteps above. The floorboards creaked ominously.

Kate raised her head, already on the verge of reaching for the gun.

The latch was unhooked and the opening pulled back. They both looked up, blinking painfully at the sudden influx of light.

"Come on up," Sawyer said wearily. "Coast is clear."

Feeling so relieved that she was on the verge of collapse, Kate passively allowed them to reverse the earlier procedure, Jack handing her up to Sawyer this time. She clung to Sawyer, tightly, still worried about what he'd encountered. She looked at him, a question in her eyes, not trusting herself to speak. He kissed her softly and then led her into the kitchen. She heard Jack ascend the ladder and follow them.

The three of them stopped abruptly. Sawyer gestured toward the kitchen table, where two small, orange cardboard boxes rested. Jack and Kate looked at them, then back at Sawyer, confused.

"_Girl Scout cookies_," he said, in a sardonic, exhausted tone.

They continued to stare at him, then back at the boxes, then at him again. Kate couldn't seem to make the absurd words mean anything. Surely all the drama they'd just been through wasn't for _that_, was it?

Jack was adjusting faster. He nodded, almost contemplatively. "I see you went with the peanut butter patties."

"You gotta problem with that?" Sawyer asked.

"To tell you the truth, I prefer the thin mints, myself."

"You _would_," Sawyer said with scorn.

Jack finally exhaled in silent, relieved laughter. Sawyer had a gleam in his eyes, despite his remaining stress.

Kate moved over toward the table, feeling that her knees would buckle under her if she continued to stand. She sank down and leaned her head onto her arms, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Could this night possibly be any more surreal? She felt a hand patting her between the shoulder blades, soothingly and reassuringly.

The terrible thing was that she wasn't even sure _whose _hand it was.


	31. Chapter 31

**MistyX**: I love how your "short" reviews are still like 10 times longer than other people's normal reviews. ;) I love reading your ideas... It's like I'm reading about someone else's fic, since you bring up angles that I haven't even seen.

**Goldilocke**: Yeah, I'm sure Aunt Meg is past menopause... Hopefully the dumb girl at the pharmacy didn't know the difference, because other than that, I don't know how to make them safer! Lol...

Hope everybody's having a great summer - thanks so much for sticking with me!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

After the Girl Scout scare, none of them had much appetite left. Jack retreated into the hall, and, using his cell phone, arranged for a cab service to pick him up the next morning and deliver him to the airport. He also made a series of work-related calls, although Kate thought she heard him lower his voice tenderly during one of them. She stopped clearing away pizza boxes and strained her ears to listen, wondering if it was the pediatrician or just his mother. Then she noticed Sawyer watching her, so she quickly went back to cleaning up, using her one free hand awkwardly.

They moved into the living room out of a lack of alternatives, and Jack chose a chair that was a suitable distance from the two of them. They watched the last game of the World Series, which even Jack had forgotten was on that night. It had been a long day.

Kate noticed that Sawyer's head was drooping listlessly, and he was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. He was also unusually quiet, offering only one or two sarcastic comments every half hour or so, much less than his usual pace. She knew it was fatigue. He hadn't slept at all last night... he'd been too worried about her. And unlike most people, whose irritability increased with tiredness, Sawyer's actually diminished. Because his moodiness and short temper were usually on such prominent display when he was wide awake, he tended to lose his grasp on them as his energy waned. She'd noticed this phenomenon before, and, strange as it sounded, it was one of the things that endeared him to her. She smiled at him gently as he jerked his head up once again and made a valiant effort to focus his eyes on the television.

Jack, in contrast, seemed to be excruciatingly alert. He was staring at the screen with an almost desperate tenseness, leaning forward in his chair. And it wasn't even really a close game, Kate thought, feeling confused. Was he one of those guys who were obsessed with baseball? She didn't recall him ever talking about it before, on the island.

The fire was dying down, but neither of them seemed to notice. Kate considered trying to put some more wood on it herself, but she knew that would just make both of them feel guilty, and it didn't seem to be worth it.

Finally, the last out was made, an undramatic, anti-climactic toss from the pitcher to first base, and the game was over. The Red Sox had won. Jack seemed to sag a little, and instead of looking triumphant or relieved, he looked haggard and strangely hurt. But hadn't he _wanted _them to win? Kate didn't know what to think.

To her surprise, Sawyer suddenly spoke from his position next to her on the couch. She'd thought he'd fallen asleep, but apparently not. His words meant nothing to her, however, so that for a few seconds she wasn't entirely convinced that he _wasn't _talking in his sleep.

"Guess you and your old man were wrong," he said slowly.

Jack turned toward him. "I'm sorry?" But he looked like he understood.

"'Bout the Sox never winnin' the Series," Sawyer replied.

Jack seemed stunned for a few seconds, but then he laughed bitterly.

"Well, stranger things have happened, Sawyer." He looked pointedly from him to Kate, and then dropped his eyes.

She looked over at Sawyer, questioningly. There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face, but it didn't seem malicious.

"Too bad he ain't here to see it."

"What did you say?" Jack's head snapped back up, and there was something that looked like hatred in his expression. It was a faint undercurrent that Kate had rarely felt in his presence. It seemed to be only Sawyer that brought it out.

"I bet he waited a long time for this night, didn't he?" Sawyer went on, in a thoughtful tone. "Guess he checked out a few months too early."

Jack stood up and took a couple of steps toward the couch. Kate placed her hand lightly on Sawyer's elbow, alarmed.

"You think you know my father? You think because you had a few drinks with him that you know _anything at all _about him? You don't. Trust me." He seemed to be trying hard to reign in his anger.

Sawyer was taken aback at first, but then his own anger kicked in. He stood up. "Don't think so, huh? Because the way I remember it is, he seemed to think we had a lot in common."

Kate looked from one to the other, bewildered. What were they _talking _about?

"Look," Jack said, in a low, falsely calm tone. "I appreciate what you did... giving me his _message_, and everything. Even though you waited till the last possible minute to do it," he added, almost as an aside. "But if you think that gives you the right... The right to..." He stopped, tormented.

"The right to _what_?" Sawyer asked, sounding genuinely confused. "Hell, Doc, I thought we were just talkin' about baseball! If I'd 'a known you were gonna have a conniption, I wouldn't have brought up the old man at all." He looked around in wonder. "What the hell did you _do to the guy, _anyway? I'm guessin' it must have been somethin' pretty damn bad if just the mention of him makes you want to step into the boxing ring."

"You son-of-a-bitch," Jack muttered, moving toward him.

"Hey!" Kate stood up quickly. "What the hell _is _this?"

Jack stopped, looking guilty. They both turned toward Kate, as if they'd forgotten she was even there.

She stared at them closely, puzzled. "Jack?" She waited for some kind of answer.

But he didn't explain. Turning back to Sawyer, he said wearily, "I realize this is your house, all right? Which is why I've been trying my best all day to ignore your little smart-ass comments." Sawyer rolled his eyes, but Jack went on. "But it's obvious that staying here was a bad idea to begin with. So, I'm just gonna go ahead and call a cab, check into a hotel. I think it'll be the best thing for all of us. I'm sorry, Kate," he added, noticing how disappointed she looked.

It was clear that Sawyer's first instinct was to be relieved at this news, but then he, too, noticed Kate's expression. He looked at her for a second, and then said harshly, "Don't bother. I'm goin' to bed." He angled his head toward Jack. "So you might as well save yourself the trip."

Kate looked at Jack with veiled hopefulness. He sighed loudly, but he seemed to give in.

"You comin' up?" Sawyer asked Kate as he started toward the door. There was a challenge in the words, but he also appeared worried. He waited tensely.

She felt terrible, but she already knew what answer she would give. Looking down at the floor, she said, "I've been sleeping off and on all day, so I'm not really... I'm not really tired yet," she finished lamely. She met his eyes, trying to soften the impact.

His disappointment in her was apparent. "_Yeah_," he said, turning away with a bitter smile, as if this was exactly what he'd expected to hear. "You two enjoy your little heart-to-heart, then. I'm sure you been waitin' around for it all day." Casting back one last scornful look that took in both of them at once, he disappeared into the hall.

Kate and Jack looked at each other. Then Kate seemed to make a decision. She couldn't let him go off like that. "I'll be right back," she said softly, following him out.

He was just starting to climb the stairs when she stopped him. "Sawyer."

Turning around, he came back down to the base of the staircase, looking exhausted. "What?"

She gazed at him imploringly, although she could tell he didn't want to look her in the eyes. "I'll be right up." She made herself sound firm, convincing.

He didn't say anything, but he was softening towards her, she could feel it.

"Hey," she said, forcing him to look at her. "I won't be long, I promise."

Breathing out slowly, he brought his hands up and smoothed her hair back from her face on both sides. "If I come back down here and catch you two playin' Monopoly..." he muttered threateningly.

She flashed him a bright, laughing smile. Leaning her forehead against his chest for a second, she tilted back and whispered, still smiling, "No Monopoly. Got it."

They were just outside the living room, and she didn't know if Jack could hear them from there or not, or what he would make of such a bizarre warning if he could. But she didn't really care.

Now Sawyer leaned down to kiss her - a deep, slow, lingering kiss that had so much force behind it that she was forced to lean against the stair banister to avoid toppling over backward. For a few seconds, during the peak of that kiss, she was tempted to go upstairs with him.

He finally pulled back and seemed to be drinking in her appearance as if he thought he might never see her again. Maybe he thought he _wouldn't_, she realized with a poignant sadness. He looked scared to death, as if, with Jack here, all bets were off. And there was absolutely nothing she could say that would make him feel any different.

She touched his cheek lightly, saying in a whisper, "Get some sleep."

He glanced anxiously toward the door of the living room one more time, then squeezed her hand and turned to head upstairs. She hung onto his fingers for a few seconds, only dropping them when he had gone up so far that she was forced to.

She watched him go, and then, with a deep breath, turned back into the living room.

* * *

Jack had finally noticed that the fire was dying down, so he spent a few minutes in building it back up. Kate sat down near the hearth, watching him, trying to ignore the dull ache that was starting to travel up the length of her arm. When he'd piled on enough wood, the blaze roared up, and the room felt warmer almost immediately.

"You make a good fire," Kate said appreciatively.

He glanced at her. "Well, I had a lot of practice." Sitting down, he added, "I guess we all did, didn't we?"

"Yeah," she agreed, quietly.

He studied her for a second. "It's probably about time for a few of those pain pills."

She considered refusing them, but decided against it. He shook a few from the bottle and handed them across to her. She picked up her glass from earlier in the day, which still had some water left at the bottom.

"Let me get you some more," he offered.

"It's fine," she protested, taking the pills quickly before he could grab the glass. After she'd swallowed them, she waited a second. There seemed to be no easy way to begin this conversation.

In a low, soft voice, she inquired, "What was that about, Jack?"

"What was what about?"

She continued to stare at him, knowing that he didn't really need her to clarify.

Finally, he sighed. "Back in Sydney, Sawyer...met my dad. At a bar. It must have been a few days before the plane took off." He paused. "He's never told you about this?"

"No," she said, shocked. "I... I had no idea." She looked away, thinking. "But you said... Didn't you say your dad _died_, in Sydney?"

"Yeah," Jack said, looking a little sick. "He did. It must have been right after that."

Slowly, she said, "Then that means that Sawyer..."

"Was probably one of the last people to talk to him," Jack finished for her. He almost looked like he wanted to laugh. "The irony, huh?"

Kate smiled wanly, her eyes still sad.

"But, despite everything, I'm glad he was there," he said somewhat grudgingly. "Since my dad was apparently doing his usual self-pitying routine, he must have started a conversation about how screwed-up his life was... and it naturally came around to me." He shook his head, imagining the scene. "I can just hear him." After a few seconds, Jack roused himself and went on. "Anyway, what he told Sawyer... what he said about me... It was something that I needed to hear. Something I'll remember till the day I die. If I'm lucky, the _only _words of Sawyer's I'll remember till the day I die," he added with a wry look. "So, I'm grateful to him for that, at least."

The earlier confrontation was finally beginning to make sense to Kate now, the pieces falling into place. She nodded in understanding.

Jack continued. "I'm sorry about what happened before. I never should have reacted like that... I really don't know what came over me." He thought for a second. "Maybe it's because he's right... my dad _should _have been around for that game. He waited his whole life to see that. If it hadn't been for me, he might have."

"I don't understand," Kate said, confused. "You weren't even there when he died... How could you have stopped it?"

For a while he didn't say anything, and he seemed to be debating with himself whether he wanted to explain or not. Finally, he came to a decision. Using as few words as possible, he told her in a matter-of-fact voice. "He was operating under the influence of alcohol at the hospital where we both worked, and he made a mistake. The patient died. I was the only one who knew why, and during the investigation, I turned him in. He lost his job, and...pretty much everything else."

"Jack," Kate whispered, horrified and sympathetic at once. She hadn't had any idea. For a moment, the enormity of it rested on her, numbing her, and she didn't know what else to say. They sat in silence.

Eventually, she spoke in a soft voice. "It was the right thing to do."

Then, with a hint of irony, she added, "I realize how ridiculous those words must sound coming from me."

Jack shook his slightly. "They don't, actually."

She looked down, waiting for a second. There was something she needed to ask, and since the conversation had let to it naturally, it seemed like as good a time as any.

"Speaking of doing the right thing," she began.

"Kate," he said with dread, obviously seeing where she was going with this.

But she plunged ahead. "The last time you were here... I heard you tell Sawyer that you thought I should turn myself in..that it was my best option. Is that..." She stopped, then forced herself to go on. "Do you still believe that?"

He sighed, and it was clear that he'd rather do anything in the world than answer this question. "Honestly.. in the abstract... Yes. If I was reading your case history, or hearing about it on the news, or on America's Most Wanted... then I'd say you'd be crazy not to."

She nodded in an attempt at objectivity, trying to keep tears from forming.

"But when I'm actually sitting here in front of you, looking at you.. And you're not some serial number or face on a wanted poster... You're just..._Kate_." He smiled sadly. "Then the thought of you spending the best years of your life in prison makes me sick to my stomach."

"So is that a yes or a no?" she asked with a faint smile, the tears even closer to the surface now.

He considered, but all he said was, "Maybe I'm not the best person to answer that question."

She decided to let him off the hook. In the end, it probably wasn't a question she really wanted the answer to, anyway.

For a while, they didn't speak. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock above on the mantel were the only sounds in the room.

Jack looked around him, curiously. "This house must be pretty old."

"It was built in 1918," she said, a little proudly. The words had a funny echo in her ears, and she realized, after a few seconds, that they were the same ones she and Sawyer had exchanged on the first night she'd stayed here. How strange that it now fell to her to inform someone else about the house's age in such a knowing, proprietary way.

He continued to examine the room. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you did the furniture arrangement in here."

She laughed. "Good guess. You wouldn't believe how bad it looked, before."

"If Sawyer had anything to do with it, I can only imagine."

She didn't say anything for a minute, but then began in a hesitating manner. "I know how crazy this must seem, Jack... How it all must look to you." It was abundantly clear that she was no longer talking about the furniture. "I wish there was some way I could explain it... that would make sense."

He seemed to be in deep thought. After a short lapse, he looked at her with hurt, somehow accusing eyes. "Why didn't you come to me, Kate?"

What she'd expected from him was the kind of response she'd grown accustomed to in the past, something like, "You don't have to explain," or a similar reassuring phrase. But this was a question she never would have predicted, and she couldn't hide the fact that it caught her off guard.

He must have seen how startled she was, because he hastened to explain. "I know it's not something I should ask, but I figured since I've already made a fool of myself tonight, I don't have anything left to lose. And I'd like to know," he finished simply. The words that hung in the air, unsaid, were _You owe me that, at least_. She could sense their presence even though he hadn't spoken them.

Closing her eyes briefly, she said in a quiet voice, "Sawyer wanted to know the same thing when I showed up here."

"And what did you tell him?"

She considered saying that she couldn't remember, or that she hadn't told him anything, but was it really worth the effort? Jack wouldn't press her, she knew, but what was the point of keeping it from him?

"I told him that... I didn't want to get you involved in this."

Jack looked almost amused. "I'm sure _that _went over well."

Kate smiled a little in memory. Taking a deep breath, she tried to finish honestly. "And I told him that..." She stopped, wishing this wasn't so brutally painful. She didn't know how to go on without hurting him.

"That you didn't know if you could trust me?" Jack supplied, with a faintly bitter smile.

She dropped her eyes, both relieved and disheartened by the accuracy of his guess. She didn't say anything. What _could _she say?

"I know it doesn't make any difference now, but... for the record? You could have." He watched her closely.

She brushed her sleeve quickly across her cheek, where a tear had fallen despite her vigilance.

"I'm not trying to upset you, Kate," he said gently. "It just occurred to me earlier to wonder... If you _had _come to me, would this be us?" He looked around the room again, with a thoughtful air. "Would _we _have the dog, and the broken thermostat, and the visiting aunt?" His tone sounded almost joking, but his eyes gave the opposite impression.

"You deserve so much better than me, Jack," she said, shaking her head, her voice threatening to break.

"But Sawyer doesn't?" he asked with slight laugh.

"No," she said, with a genuine smile. "He doesn't. We deserve _each other_." She met his eyes, a hint of mirth in her expression.

Luckily, Jack hadn't lost his sense of humor, either. "Forgive me, Kate, but that doesn't sound very promising."

Still smiling a little, she looked away. "I don't mean it like that. It's just... It's hard to explain."

"Would it help if I'd killed somebody?"

"Jack." Her voice was barely even a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking like he meant it. "I'll be the first to admit that I've never been good at losing."

"You haven't lost me."

He didn't respond to this directly, since it so obviously was untrue. "Maybe I'm being crazy, anyway. I mean, maybe I'm only imagining that there was ever anything there to begin with. I _thought _there was... Or at least the potential for it. But maybe I was wrong."

"You weren't wrong," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"I guess it was just that it was always so easy to talk to you," he went on, almost to himself. "Like we'd known each other forever. It still feels that way. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," she agreed, softly. "In some ways, I _have _known you forever."

He looked a little confused by this, but he didn't ask her to clarify.

"One thing's for sure, though." He stared at her with forthrightness. "I'll never know anybody else like you."

She looked away, bitterly. "You should be thankful for that."

He continued to gaze at her, thoughtfully, until she turned back to him.

"I'm not," he said simply.

Then he looked into the fire for a minute. After an interval, he spoke again, but his voice sounded different - tired, but also calm, almost tranquil.

"Are you happy, Kate?"

He continued to stare into the flames, waiting for her answer.

She decided to be completely truthful. "As happy as I ever _can _be, considering... the way things are."

He nodded.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Now he looked up, needing to see the confirmation in her face as well as hear it in her response.

She swallowed hard and felt herself tear up again. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she met his gaze head on. "Yeah." She paused, and her face softened a little. "I am."

It was clear that the answer was painful to him, but he still managed to give her a small, weak smile. "Then that's all that matters, right?"

She waited a second, then nodded. "Right."

The silence stretched out between them, and Kate noticed for the first time that she was exhausted. Jack seemed to notice it at the same instant.

"It's been a long day," he said sympathetically. "I think maybe we should both try to get some sleep."

"I'll show you where your room is," she said quietly, standing up.

Once upstairs, she flipped on the light in the bedroom she'd once slept in and discovered, to her embarrassment, that there were no sheets on the bed.

"Just a second," she said. She went to the hall closet and, with difficulty, pulled the sheets down with her left arm.

Jack took the bundle from her when she re-entered the room and began to make the bed. Unable to prevent herself, Kate started to help him from the other side.

"I'll do this, Kate," he said gently. "Don't worry about it. I've made a bed before, you know."

"I know," she said, refusing to stop. "I just feel like an idiot. I should have put them on when I washed them yesterday, but I stuck them in the closet instead..." She sounded annoyed with herself.

"You really live here, don't you?" He seemed both amused and sad at the same time.

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

"I mean, you're not just staying here. This is your _house_." There was something about the way he said the words that sounded resigned and defeated.

She hooked the fitted sheet around the corner of the mattress, realizing that he was right. It was the first time the idea had occurred to her, and it gave her a feeling she'd never experienced before.

"I guess so," she said in a musing voice.

They continued to make the bed, one on each side, pulling up the sheets and fitting them, tucking them in with a perfect, matched rhythm. It was an easy, friendly cooperation, and she was reminded for a brief instant of the day she and Sawyer had been stacking wood on the porch, and the buzz of excited, electric competition that had driven them to try to outdo each other. The contrast couldn't be more striking.

When it was finished, there didn't seem to be anything left to say. They told each other good-night, but then Kate paused in the doorway, remembering something.

"What was it that you wanted to say, earlier? When Sawyer came back with the prescriptions and interrupted you?"

"Oh," he said, remembering now. "I just... I wanted to apologize."

"For what?"

"For something I should have apologized for a long time ago. Right after it happened, in fact."

She looked like she didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

"I accused you of trying to poison Michael. Or _implied _an accusation which is the same thing. And I'm sorry for that. I never should have leaped to that conclusion. I know you better than that." He gave her an open, sincere look.

Kate's expression, however, gradually changed from one of curiosity to one of shame and misery. She looked down at the floor, tormented. She could accept the apology and let him continue to think that he'd been in the wrong. But on an almost masochistic level, she needed for him to know the truth in order to prove her point. Especially now.

He watched her, not understanding why she looked so upset. "What is it?"

She spoke softly, but she didn't stammer or hesitate. "It was my idea." She looked up at him. "I told Sun to do it."

At first he didn't seem to believe her, but then the disillusionment settled in. He shook his head, not able to hide how disappointed he was.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it, relinquishing something. "Don't be. It's all in the past, isn't it?" Obviously, he wasn't just referring to the poisoning, but to much more between them that was now in the past.

"Yeah," she said, trying to give him a smile, but not succeeding very well.

"Goodnight, Kate."

"Night, Jack," she responded sadly. She broke their gaze for what felt like the last time and closed the door behind her.

Now she stood in the hallway between the two bedrooms. Taking a second to compose herself and get her emotions in check, she crossed the hall and opened Sawyer's door.

"Stop pretending to be asleep," she said after she'd shut it behind her. "I know you're not."

"Like hell you do," he muttered into his pillow.

She smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Come and help me get undressed."

"Well now," he said, dragging himself up and flipping on the lamp next to him on the nightstand. "That's the kinda job I don't mind doin'."

With unexpected delicacy, he helped pull her jeans off. She started to remove the sling in order to get to her shirt, but he stopped her.

"Hold on." In a complicated maneuver that she couldn't even follow, he managed to get both her shirt and her bra off while barely disturbing the sling at all.

She looked at him in surprise. "You act like you've _done this _before."

He grinned secretively. "You really wanna know?"

"No," she said quickly, with a wry smile. "Don't _ever _tell me that story."

He started to help her pull on a pajama top, but then stopped, noticing the side of her bicep. "Jesus... look at this! Looks like you got kicked by a damn horse." He was referring to the bruise that had formed where the three shots had gone in.

"Jack said that might happen. It's normal."

"_Normal_," he muttered with scorn. "Maybe if he hadn't thrown 'em in like he was playin' darts..."

She sighed.

Maybe he felt bad for the remark, because he leaned over and kissed the bruised area, so lightly that it caused her to break out in chills. He trailed kisses up over her shoulder to her neck, gradually increasing in pressure.

"Sawyer," she said warningly.

"What?" he asked, pulling her hair back so he could have easier access to the area below her ear.

"Are you kidding me? Jack's right across the hall!" she whispered.

"So?"

"You're disgusting," she said, shaking her head and laughing as if she wasn't surprised.

"We can keep it down, can't we?" he asked with a gleam in his eye.

While he went back to kissing her, she tried to reason with him. "We're both exhausted... My arm is in a sling, and I'm so hopped up on painkillers that I probably wouldn't even be able to _feel _anything."

"Then I guess you won't have to worry about makin' any noise, now, will ya?"

"I can't believe you," she groaned, still laughing. She pulled away from him, holding him at bay with her good arm. Growing more serious, she said firmly, "I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise."

"Yeah," he said sarcastically, flopping back onto the bed. "If you don't decide to run off with the doc, that is."

"How can you even joke about something like that?

"What makes you think it's a joke?"

Pulling herself over to him, she leaned onto his chest, looking directly into his eyes. The fear wasn't gone from them yet, not completely.

"When are you gonna get it through your head that I've already made my choice? It was made the second I climbed through your stupid window... And if you weren't so pathetically insecure maybe you would have already realized that."

He rolled his eyes a little, but he was listening intently.

Enunciating her words clearly, forcefully, she spoke just barely above a whisper.

"_I'm not going anywhere."_

She leaned down to kiss him, and her earlier objections were completely forgotten.

* * *

If Jack heard anything at all that night, he refused to acknowledge it, even to himself.


	32. Chapter 32

I'm posting two chapters in this update, 32 & 33, because they didn't seem to fit together well thematically, so I split them up.

MistyX: Once again, you eerily predicted some of things I did.. Even down to the actual words. If something terrible happens to me, you finish writing this fic, okay? I'll leave it to you in my will... Lol.

Thank you so much for reviewing, guys - And I'm continually amazed by you new readers who are willing to read the whole thing straight through. I just wonder if I'll ever have the patience for that, myself.

Oh, and I also must add that the idea for the Halloween story was **Kater's **from Lost-forum (GoldenGirl on here). Chapters 33-34 would have been completely different otherwise, so she gets all the credit for this!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

When Kate opened her eyes and glanced at the clock, she was alarmed by how late she'd slept. And it was all Sawyer's fault, she thought irrationally, giving him a forceful shove. They should have gone to sleep immediately last night, but _oh no_...

"Wake up," she demanded. He groaned and muttered something incoherent into the pillow. Getting out of bed, she hurriedly dressed, being careful of her right arm but deciding to do away with the sling for now. What time was Jack leaving for the airport? She couldn't remember, although she knew he must have told her.

Entering the hall, she noticed that the door of the room he'd stayed in was open, the bed neatly made and everything immaculate. She went down the stairs with growing dread, first checking the living room, which was empty. She went to the kitchen doorway to make a quick survey and then came to a halt, embarrassed and relieved at the same time. He was sitting at the table.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Good morning."

"I had this crazy fear that you might try to leave before we woke up, without saying goodbye." She looked at him curiously, wondering if that _had _been his intention. His bags were packed, one stacked on top of the other, over by the door.

He looked vaguely guilty, but also amused. "Well, it's a little hard to ride off into the sunrise when you have to wait for a cab."

She smiled. "I suppose so."

They were quiet for a second. Kate wasn't really sure what to say. It would be pointless to bring up any of the things they'd talked about last night. They'd already been through it all, and there was nothing new to add. She wished Sawyer would hurry up and get his ass out of bed, if only to rescue them from this now-awkward intimacy.

"Are you hungry?" she finally asked. "You should probably eat something before you leave." She started over toward the cabinets.

"I'm fine, Kate. I'm not much of a breakfast person." He paused. "I, uh.. I made some coffee already. I hope that's okay."

"Oh," she said, glancing over at the coffee pot. "Of course." She went to pour herself a cup, if only to have something to occupy her hands for a second.

"I notice you took the sling off," he said, watching her.

"Yeah. It was more trouble than it was worth."

"How does it feel this morning?"

"Not too bad." She stretched her right arm out, experimentally. "I mean, I doubt I'll be doing cartwheels any time soon, but it feels fine. Just a little sore."

"I should probably take another look at it before I leave, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," she said, sitting down near him at the table. "Go ahead."

Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage. As he tilted his head with concern and examined the tiny stitched incisions for signs of infection or bleeding, Kate watched his face. He glanced up at her before she had time to look away and she smiled sadly.

"Everything's fine," he said gently, holding her gaze.

There was a shuffling sound near the door. "Oh _good_, he's still here," Sawyer said in a sarcastic tone.

Kate raised her eyes to him and then closed them in embarrassment and irritation, sighing. He was wearing a pair of boxers, and nothing else.

Jack lowered his gaze to the table and shook his head, looking like he was trying not to laugh.

"Sawyer," she said through clenched teeth. "Would you put some pants on?"

"Couldn't find nothin' clean," he said accusingly.

Glaring at him, she went quickly into the pantry and grabbed a pair of jeans from the dryer. Coming back into the room, she balled them up and thrust them at his midsection, hard. He staggered slightly and brought both hands up to grasp them, giving her a playful, challenging smirk.

Pulling them on without even bothering to retire from the kitchen, he asked, "So what do I owe you, doc?"

"Excuse me?" Jack asked.

"For the arm. How much?"

Kate looked at the floor, uncomfortable but not interrupting. This had been bound to come up at some point.

"You don't owe me anything," Jack said, sounding tired. "This was a favor, for a friend," he added, looking at Kate. "I would hope you'd do the same for me."

Sawyer rolled his eyes at this last remark, but pressed him again. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Keep your money."

With a shrugging gesture of acceptance, Sawyer moved over to get a cup of coffee.

Kate tried to reason with him. "Jack, let him give you something. The airfare alone must have been outrageous. Plus, you're missing work..."

"I rearranged my schedule, so I'm not really missing anything. Besides... I'm just glad I got a chance to see you." He sounded sincere, and she dropped her eyes, feeling bad.

Sawyer came back over to the table, sipping from his mug. "What do you know, Freckles... I think you're gettin' better at this whole coffee thing."

Kate broke into a smile and paused for a few seconds so that her announcement would have the fullest impact. Sawyer looked at her questioningly.

"Jack made that," she said with slow delight. This was payback for the boxers.

He glanced from her to Jack, his expression changing to one of withering scorn. He looked like he'd been tricked somehow.

"Thanks for the compliment, Sawyer," Jack said, clearly enjoying this.

Pulling out a chair, he sat down heavily, pissed but unable to think of an appropriate comeback. Luckily, he was saved by the sound of a car horn coming from the driveway.

"That must be my cab," Jack said, standing up slowly.

Sawyer dragged himself up again and unlocked the kitchen door. Jack picked up his bags, and they stepped out onto the side porch. Kate started to follow him around to the front of the house, but Sawyer grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Where the hell you think you're goin'?"

Jack stopped, the realization hitting him at the same time. "He's right, Kate. You can't risk the cab driver seeing you."

As the stupidity of what she'd been about to do dawned on her, she laughed almost bitterly. "I forgot. I completely forgot," she said in wonder.

They all looked sad for a second. Was this the way her life would always be?

"We can say goodbye here," Jack said.

Nodding, Kate reached out to hug him. "Thank you so much," she whispered over his shoulder. He squeezed her tighter at the repetition of those words, but then let her go abruptly, holding her at arm's length.

"If you ever need anything...Anything at all..." He gave her a meaningful look.

"I know," she whispered gratefully, trying to hold back tears.

Sawyer sighed, looking away. He wasn't going to interrupt the scene, but it was obvious he wished they'd hurry the damn thing up.

Jack finally tore his eyes away from Kate. Reluctantly, he held his hand out to Sawyer. Sawyer hesitated, looking miserable and cornered, but then he shook it.

"Take care of her," Jack said simply.

"Tryin' to," Sawyer muttered.

Kate covertly brushed away a tear, turning her head aside for a second. She swallowed hard. The car horn sounded again, two loud, blaring, impatient blasts.

Jack started down the porch. "Must be the same driver I had yesterday," he said with a half smile. "I think the guy has it in for me."

At the corner of the house, he paused, turning back. "Goodbye, Kate," he said quietly.

She nodded. "Bye," she said in a whisper, not trusting herself to attempt anything else. Sawyer put his arm around her shoulders.

Jack disappeared around the corner of the house, and a few seconds later, the sound of the car faded away.

They continued to stand there for a minute, not saying anything.

"You ready to go in?" Sawyer finally asked.

"You go ahead," she said, pulling away a little. "I'm just gonna sit here for a few minutes. I'll be right in."

He exhaled wearily, but then gave up. Kissing her on the forehead, he went back into the kitchen, leaving her alone.

Kate sat down on the porch steps. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she stared out at the mist-filled valley with a strangely peaceful expression.

----------------------


	33. Chapter 33

(This is the second chapter I'm posting in this update, so don't forget to read Chapter 32 first! ;)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

As Sawyer had expected, Kate was somewhat distant for a few days after Jack left. She tried hard not to be - he had to give her credit for that, at least. But it wasn't possible for her to completely hide her emotions, especially now that he knew her so well. Compared to the train wreck Jack had left in his wake the _last _time he'd been here, of course, this was mild by comparison. It wasn't even constant, really. Most of the time she was fine. But there were moments when he'd glance at her, when she didn't know he was looking, that he could detect a faint, poignant sadness in her expression. It made him anxious, although he knew, rationally, that there was no reason for him to feel that way. Still, he wished she'd hurry up and get the hell over it, once and for all.

Her arm continued to improve. Two days after Jack left, she was able to remove the bandage and leave it off for good. Following Jack's instructions to the letter, they left the stitches in place, even though the incisions appeared to have healed up completely. It looked as if there would be no scarring, something that Sawyer was probably more grateful for than she was. After all, _he'd _been the one wielding the knife.

On the third day after Jack left, Sawyer was sprawled lazily on the couch, watching a tawdry daytime talk show. Although he was vaguely ashamed of himself, and although he kept wondering how the hell _anybody _could watch this shit, he didn't change the channel. Two scantily dressed fat women were screaming at each other, and it looked like the encounter would turn violent any second now. He sat up a little straighter, fascinated in spite of himself.

Just then, the television set went black, the picture fading to a tiny dot in the middle of the screen and then blinking out. He looked around, bewildered. Kate stood behind him with the remote.

"Hey! I was watchin' that!"

"I know," she said dryly. "Why do you think I turned it off?"

"It was just gettin' to the good part," he muttered, annoyed.

She stared at him for a second, amused. He noticed an excited gleam in her eyes, a hint of mischief, like she was up to something. She hadn't looked like that for a few days. Did she want to have sex? he wondered hopefully.

"Do you even know what today is?" she asked in a teasing way.

He thought for a second. "It ain't your _birthday _again, is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's _Halloween_."

"And?" He waited.

"Do you even realize what that means?" she said, looking at him like he was an idiot.

"It means... that a bunch of sugar-crazed little brats are gonna come knockin at the door demandin' candy. Which I'm not gonna give 'em," he finished with a satisfied look.

Kate sighed. "It _means_," she corrected him, "that we can _leave the house_." She emphasized the last few words pointedly, and he saw that excited look in her eyes again.

"What?" he asked, truly confused.

"It's Halloween, Sawyer! It's the one night of the year when _nobody _looks like they're supposed to.. Everybody's pretending to be someone else, wearing a disguise. We can go somewhere, and no one will recognize us."

"Forget it," he said quickly, turning back toward the TV, even though it wasn't on.

"Why?" she demanded.

"What do you mean, _why_? Who's the one who gets paranoid and practically has a heart attack whenever there's a helicopter flyin' over, or a UPS guy at the door? You really want to risk everything just for one night on the town? Because I gotta say, darlin', I thought you were smarter than that."

"Nobody's going to be looking for me tonight. The cops'll have enough to worry about just trying to keep up with out-of-control teenagers... and I won't be recognizable, anyway." She paused, then went on more quietly. "If I didn't think it was safe, I wouldn't even consider it. You know that."

"You're outta your mind," he said, shaking his head.

"Sawyer," she said seriously. He turned to look at her. "I have to get out of here. Even if it's just for one night."

"Thought you liked it here," he said bitterly, looking hurt.

"I _do_," she replied, kneeling down beside him. "But no matter how much you like _any _place, you can't stay there twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, without losing your mind at some point. I'm not used to this," she said, looking away. "I mean, I've had to hide out before, but never for this long at a time. And it was different then... I had cops after me, but I wasn't national news. I could go out, if I was careful. Now I can't even risk that anymore. This could be my only chance. _Please_." She looked at him imploringly.

He sighed, on the verge of giving in. He couldn't stand it when she looked at him like that.

"Besides," she continued with irony, glancing over toward the television. "Judging from your choice of programming, I think it would be a good idea for _you _to get out of here for a while too."

"You're crazy if you think any store's gonna have costumes left on Halloween," he said, still irritated.

"We'll come up with something," she said, looking thrilled that she'd talked him into it. "In fact, I'll bet there're things we could use up in the attic. There've got to be at least ten trunks up there filled with clothes, all pre-fifties. You live in a time capsule, Sawyer."

He rolled his eyes, not answering.

"Come on," she said, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him up. "You have any better plans for today? It'll be fun!"

Although he seriously doubted the truth of that statement, he allowed her to drag him from the room. "Think there's any chance of findin' a porn star costume up there?"

"Don't count on it," she told him.

"Never hurts to try," he said wearily.

* * *

Once they reached the attic, it took a few minutes to remove the piles of things stacked on various trunks and then drag them out so that they could be opened. They spent the time sneezing, brushing away cobwebs, and uttering variations on the phrase "Gus, no! Don't eat that!" Sawyer started out by poking through an old wardrobe near the window, while Kate pried open a steamer trunk over in a corner by the door.

After a few minutes of silence, he heard her give a funny-sounding sigh.

"What'd you find?" he asked curiously.

"Baby clothes," she answered, lifting up what looked like a tiny white dress embroidered with beads.

He grinned. "No offense, sweetheart, but I don't think those are gonna fit."

She gave him a contemptuous look and closed the trunk.

"So.. you think Jack was right?" she asked casually.

"Probably not," he said with a smile. "But you're gonna have to give me a little more information than that."

"About me gaining weight." She looked up at him accusingly. "I notice you didn't contradict him."

"_Please_..." he said with scorn. "You got the figure of a twelve-year-old boy."

She gave an incredulous scoff, putting her hands on her hips.

"_What_?" he asked defensively, trying to rectify the situation. "A _hot _twelve-year-old boy!"

Kate raised her eyebrows and waited, trying not to laugh.

"That didn't come out right," he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Look, can we just change the subject!"

"Gladly," she said, moving over to another trunk.

But Sawyer wasn't good at dropping things, even when he'd been the one to suggest dropping them. After a few seconds of silence, he started again.

"You think 'cause he's a doctor he can tell whether you've put on a few pounds just by lookin' at you? That's bullshit."

"Well," she said in explanation. "It's obvious that I don't get much exercise around here... and I eat _constantly_. Besides, you see me every day, so it's not like you can really judge the way he can."

"Then what the hell'd you ask me for?"

"I don't know, Sawyer," she said quietly, digging through the trunk. "Just forget it."

"Bet you'd take my word for it if _I _was a doctor, right?" He looked at her sharply.

She sighed. "I wish I'd never said anything."

He ignored her, apparently in deep thought. "Hey, there's an idea... maybe _that's _what my costume oughtta be. I could get me some scrubs.. maybe a stethoscope, a clipboard."

Kate glanced up at him quickly, wondering if he was serious. She looked vaguely interested, in spite of herself.

"You like that idea?" he asked roguishly, winking at her.

"_No_," she said in a firm tone, unable to prevent a smile.

"Hell, forget Halloween," he went on thoughtfully. "Maybe I oughtta get some just to wear around the house. Keep you all hot and bothered."

"You have a serious problem," she said, blushing slightly.

"Too bad you got a thing for the doctors," he added, regretfully. "Guess my profession'll just never live up."

"Your _profession_?" she laughed. "And what exactly would that be? Professional con-man?"

"Haven't come up with a title yet," he said. "Still workin' on it."

"You know, it's a good thing I don't have anybody to introduce you to. What would I tell them that you do for a living?"

He considered. "You could tell 'em... that I'm between things."

"Between scams, you mean," she said, not completely joking now.

He flared up, looking at her pointedly. "Yeah, well, I don't see you complainin' about the food it buys.. or the electricity, or the hot water, or anything else."

"That money won't last forever," she said softly, not meeting his eyes.

"Thanks for the tip, Puddin'," he said with scorn. "But I'm the one spendin' it, so I reckon I know how long it'll last better than you do."

Kate pressed on, however. "And what are you gonna do when it runs out? Steal some more?"

"You got any better ideas?"

They looked at each other seriously, all the playfulness having evaporated without their even being aware of it.

"You could get a job," she suggested wryly. "Have you ever _had _a real job before?"

"Yeah, I've had a real job! What the hell do you think?"

"I don't know, Sawyer!" she protested with sincerity. "How could I? You never talk about your past!"

He looked away, angry. "Look, I'll do what has to be done, all right? Let me worry about the money." He glanced back at her, his face softening the tiniest bit. "You got enough problems already."

She was touched, and she lowered her eyes, feeling bad. Moving across the room, she crouched down in front of him on the floor, forcing him to look at her, even though she could tell he wanted to sulk. They stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds, apologizing without words. Then Kate leaned in to kiss him. Just as he was starting to get into it, however, she pulled back, distracted by the box behind him.

"Hey, look at that!" she said, sounding intrigued. She lifted out an old-fashioned black Stetson cowboy hat. Dusting it off, she set it on Sawyer's head, angling it correctly and leaning back to peer at him contemplatively. She nodded in approval, finding it sexy and hilarious at the same time, in the same way his glasses had been. "That'll work!" she said.

He was annoyed. "Hate to break it to you, Freckles, but this ain't a costume. It's a _hat_."

She looked into the box again, this time pulling out a flamboyant pink feather boa, which she immediately draped around his neck with a flourish. "_Now _it's a costume," she said, standing back to admire her work.

He yanked the boa off and tossed it aside while she laughed.

"Find something yourself, then," she told him, going back over to the trunk she'd been looking through.

"Jackpot," he heard her mutter a few minutes later. She lifted out some gauzy folds of sheer fabric, in shades of dark violet, blue, and black.

"What are you gonna do with _that_?" he asked, intrigued.

"You'll see," she said secretively, setting it aside. There was a gleam of anticipation in her eyes, and he couldn't help but enjoy it, since she so rarely looked like that. She was beautiful all the time, of course, but she was even more beautiful when she was _happy_. There was a kind of glow about her as she continued to search through the trunk, and he was unable to tear his gaze away.

As he watched, she lifted out a box from the bottom, underneath some old tablecloths. Pulling the lid off with curiosity, she delicately picked up a photograph from the top of the pile.

Noticing that he was watching her, she moved over next to him, still carrying the box. "Are these your grandparents?" she asked, sitting down beside him.

He glanced at the photo of two young people in 1930s fashion. "Can't tell," he said evasively.

"How can you not tell? Don't you think you should be able to recognize your _own grandparents_?"

"Well, when I knew 'em, they were _old_," he said in defense. Since she was still holding the picture out, he took it and looked at it closer, sighing. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's them. My dad's parents... Adam and Josephine Ford."

Kate leaned over his arm, examining it more closely. "Wow," she breathed. "You look exactly like your grandpa." She scrutinized Sawyer thoughtfully. "If he had more hair and more stubble, that is."

"That's what they always said... that I took after him. I don't really remember him, though. He died when I was three... That's why my parents got the house."

"The resemblance is amazing," she said again, looking at the black-suited young man in the picture.

She started to riffle through the other photos in the box, pulling out a few at random. "Your grandmother was beautiful."

Flipping over a picture of a group of very young teenage girls with their arms around each other, she read from the back. "_Me and the gals after our night in jail_."

Sawyer raised his eyebrows. "She was in jail?"

Kate turned the picture back over and examined it more closely, squinting to make out the words on a placard one of the girls was holding. "_Equality for women_." She smiled in realization, looking at Sawyer. "She was a suffragette."

"What the hell is that?" he asked, looking confused. It sounded like some kind of cult.

"The women's suffrage movement?" Kate asked, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Are you kidding me?"

"Oh," he said, understanding now. "The voting thing?"

"Yeah, _the voting thing_," Kate echoed him, sarcastically. "She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen," she mused, looking at the picture again.

"Guess my grandpa had a thing for criminals too, then," he said jokingly. But he knew almost instantly that he shouldn't have said it.

Kate glanced down quickly, looking hurt.

_Damn it_... Would he ever learn to stop putting his foot in his mouth? He sighed.

"It's okay," she said before he could apologize. With the two of them lately, the intention often substituted for the act. She gave him a slight smile, forgiving him.

"You woulda liked her," he said, in a subdued tone. "She had a flair for the dramatic."

Kate listened with interest, waiting for him to go on.

"She always thought she shoulda been a Southern belle, even though she came from a one-room cabin in the foothills of Georgia. And she was determined that neither one of her boys would ever get married, because she wanted to keep 'em both at home to take care of her. When my uncle ran off and married Meg on a whim, she was so upset she threw herself down the well, just to make a statement."

"Are you serious?" Kate asked, concerned.

"Wasn't a very deep well," he said sardonically. "But the whole county came out to watch 'em pull her out. Except Aunt Meg was already _there_, and she refused to let 'em do it until my grandma would agree to stop bein' such a baby and accept the fact that she wasn't goin' nowhere. She even had a paper lowered down for her to sign, just so she could have it in writing. After that, they were best friends. When my mom married into the family, she was scared to death of both of 'em."

Kate smiled, imagining it all. She looked at Sawyer tenderly.

"They used to tell that story all the time," he said, still lost in memory. Then he looked sad.

"I've forgotten what that's like," Kate said, softly.

"What?" he asked, looking at her.

"Having family," she whispered.

He waited a second, then looked away.

"Me too."

They sat without speaking for a few seconds, thinking about everything they'd lost, and everything they'd never had to begin with.

Kate pulled another picture out of the box, not really paying attention to what she was doing. She looked at the back first, reading aloud. "_Tennessee State Fair, 1936 - The day we fell in love_." She looked at the front again, wistfully. Then she froze for a second, her expression changing to shock. "Oh my God," she said quietly, bringing the print closer to her eyes, trying to catch the faint light from the window.

"What?" Sawyer asked, a little worried. What was there in a seventy-year-old picture that could make her look that disturbed?

She continued to stare at it for a few seconds, but then looked up, shaking her head in wonder. "You aren't gonna believe this." She passed the photograph over to him. "Look what she's wearing," Kate said in awe.

He looked, at first not understanding. It was a dress. So what? But it _did _look strangely familiar. Then it registered in a flash that this was THE dress... the one Kate had worn every other day for the first few weeks she'd been here. He felt unaccountably spooked.

Kate seemed to be having a different reaction, however. She looked almost _dreamy_. "That was the dress I was wearing the first time we..." she stopped, clearly unsure which phrase to use in this situation.

"First time we _what_?" he asked with a cocky grin, momentarily forgetting how eerie this was.

She narrowed her eyes at him, grabbing the picture back out of his hand. "You know what I mean."

He thought about it some more, feeling increasingly disturbed.

"Don't you think it's romantic?" Kate asked. "_What_? Why do you look so freaked out?"

With reluctance, he said, "I was just wonderin'... If you have sex with someone wearin' your grandma's clothes, isn't that kinda like havin' sex with your grandma?" He looked vaguely disgusted.

Kate reached over and thumped him on the chest, her sentimental vision shattered. "Do you have to spoil everything?"

Then she smiled at him, replacing the picture in the box and standing up. She put it back in the trunk and closed the lid. Lifting the pile of fabric, she said to him, "I'm gonna go find some scissors... see what I can do with this stuff. You keep looking. It'll be dark in a few hours," she added, raising her eyebrows.

"Where are we goin' on this _big night out_, anyway?"

"I don't know," she replied. "That's the fun part, isn't it? We'll just... see where we end up." They gazed at each other for a few more seconds, and he marveled at how much she looked like a kid. Her excitement was infectious, and he found himself anticipating the coming of night in spite of his earlier fears.

"Come on, Gus!" she called as she started down the stairs. The puppy trotted happily after her, his head and ears covered in cobwebs.

Sawyer watched them go, allowing himself, for a few moments at least, to dwell on what he _did _have, rather than on what he'd lost.


	34. Chapter 34

Happy Halloween, everybody! (This story is making me seasonally confused. ;) Although my head is pounding right now and I haven't been outside once today, and I hid out from my visiting relatives in order to write, I still love you all! Mwah!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

Kate was kneeling in the living room floor, the fabric resting in silky folds around her on all sides. She'd been snipping and trimming for about an hour now, and the costume was almost complete. Now all that remained was to try it on and see if it would actually work. She still hadn't seen Sawyer yet, and she was starting to worry that he might have fallen asleep up there somewhere. Either that, or he'd discovered the stack of vintage Playboys she'd noticed in the corner but prudently neglected to tell him about. Apparently, he and his grandpa had had _a lot_ in common.

Just when she was on the verge of going to search for him, she heard his slow, heavy tread descending the stairs. She glanced up and back down at the fabric as he entered the room, but then froze and raised her eyes to him again in a combination of shock and amusement. He was barefoot, with a pair of black slacks cut off and rolled up to just below the knees. For a shirt, he had on some kind of open-necked billowy white blouse that might _possibly _have been a woman's. Although his hair was shorter now, there was just enough length for it to be pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck. Covering his head was a red handkerchief, also tied in the back. The crowning detail was a black eye-patch.

He stood in front of her, looking sulky yet expectant, waiting for her reaction.

"What are you supposed to be?" she asked slowly, in wonder.

He raised his hands and let them drop, looking away in exasperation. "What the hell you mean, _what am I s'posed to be_, woman? I'm a pirate! Ain't it obvious?"

Kate grinned now, looking back down at the floor and nodding. "I know. I just wanted to hear you say the words, _I'm a pirate_."

He narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance. "_Funny_," he said, collapsing into a chair and pulling the eye-patch off.

Kate realized that she should have been more supportive. His fragile ego required the kind of boost that she was usually unwilling to give. But today, she would have to make an extra effort. Otherwise, he'd never go out dressed like that, and her plans for the night would be ruined.

Pulling herself up, she walked over to him and perched on the arm of the chair he was sitting in.

"It's perfect," she said in an approving tone.

He didn't answer her.

"In fact," she went on thoughtfully, putting her hands on his shoulders. "If you really think about it, you practically _are _a pirate."

"How you figure?" he asked bitingly. But he seemed interested.

"Well, look at the evidence." She ticked off the points on her fingers. "You're a criminal. You steal from rich people. You were marooned on a desert island, and you got stabbed in the arm by a foreign soldier. You built a raft to escape, and you sailed off with a band of misfits into the vast unknown," she concluded with a flourish. Putting her arms around him from behind, she leaned over and spoke close to his ear. "It all sounds pretty pirate-like to me. All you're lacking is a parrot."

"You're full of shit," he muttered. But she could tell he was thinking about it, and that he _liked _the idea. She could practically see the wheels turning in his mind - _Hell, she's right.. I AM like a pirate. _

Smiling secretively, she kissed him on the neck.

"You done with yours yet?" he asked, gesturing toward the fabric.

"I think so." She stood up and gathered the piles into her arms, laying them on the couch. "But I'll wait until after dinner to try it on. I'm _starving_. Aren't you?" she asked, heading toward the kitchen.

* * *

Tweaking the costume and making minor adjustments took longer than Kate had expected, so that it was nearly 10:00 PM by the time she finally made her way back downstairs. Sawyer was waiting for her, impatiently, even though he'd originally been against the idea of going anywhere at all.

"Well?" she asked, turning around for his inspection while he gazed at her in astonishment. She was draped head to toe in the violet, blue, and black fabric, and she'd somehow managed to make it both flowing and form-fitting at the same time. Using a sheer piece of black netting, she'd created a veil which covered her face, leaving her features just barely visible. Even through the screen, though, he could see that she was wearing heavy makeup - thick black eyeliner and mascara, some kind of glittery eyeshadow that matched the costume, and a dark blood-red lipstick.

"I'm a gypsy," she explained, sounding embarrassed. "Or...something like that. It was the only thing I could think of that would let me keep my face covered... other than the old bedsheet-ghost standard."

Still speechless, he lifted the veil over her head in order to get a better look at her face. Although he'd just been thinking a few weeks ago that he never wanted to see her with makeup on, he now felt his pulse speed up at how unbelievably sexy she looked. He'd never imagined her like this, and he had to fight the urge to just throw her down on the couch and start pawing at her. But he had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate the gesture - especially not when it had taken her so long to get ready.

"God _damn_," he said under his breath. "You sure you don't just want to stay in?"

She smiled at him slyly. "I'm sure. But if you play your cards right, maybe I'll leave it on for a few hours after we get home."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," he whispered, running his hands down to her waist and lightly grazing his lips against hers before pulling back, teasing her. She closed her eyes for a second and drew in her breath shakily, but then smiled and moved away from him.

"I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work. Get the keys."

"Yes, _ma'am_," he said with a grin, grabbing them from the hall table. She could order him around all she wanted to, as long as she was dressed like _that_. "Where'd the makeup come from?"

She gave him a funny look. "From the glove compartment of your car."

_Shit_. He shouldn't have asked.

"And don't worry," she added. "I'm not gonna ask you who it belonged to."

"Good. Because there ain't a chance in hell I'd be able to tell ya," he said jokingly, tossing the keys into the air and catching them.

"I didn't think so," she said, rolling her eyes.

Gus poked his head into the front hall and looked curiously at the two of them, obviously having no sympathy at all with this whole Halloween thing. Kate called him to her and kneeled down, hugging him.

"I feel so guilty leaving him by himself."

"He'll probably just think we're asleep upstairs," Sawyer said, trying to hurry her along.

"You guard the house, okay, Gus?" Kate said to the dog. He licked her on the nose, and she stood up, smiling.

She looked at Sawyer's costume again. "You know," she said thoughtfully. "You really need a sword to complete the ensemble."

"I got somethin' better than that." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a pistol.

Kate grew serious and looked away. "I don't want you to take that," she said in a quiet voice.

"Too bad."

"Sawyer." She met his eyes. "For one night, can't we just pretend that we aren't the kind of people who have to carry guns everywhere?" She sounded sad.

"But we are." He looked at her steadily.

She was silent for a few seconds, not arguing with him. "_Please_," she tried again.

He sighed heavily. With obvious reluctance, he laid the pistol on the table, already missing the comforting weight of it in his pocket.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking at the gun with regret.

"So... are we ready?" he asked.

There was that faint excitement in her eyes again.

"Let's go," she said.

Trying his best to ignore his jittery nerves, he led her out.

* * *

For a while they just drove, not heading any place in particular. Wispy clouds, appearing dark blue in the night sky, drifted in front of the moon. A breeze caused newly-fallen dead leaves to skitter across the country road in the truck's headlights. There was an eerie quality to the atmosphere, as if even Nature was conscious that Halloween was distinct from any other day.

Although it was really too cold for it, Kate kept the window open, delighting in the simple feel of the air against her skin. It was something she'd experienced so rarely lately that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like. She gazed out at the woods and the few houses they passed with a hungry eagerness, and Sawyer watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"Want to go trick-or-treatin'?" he asked her.

She looked over at him, amused. "I don't think anybody would give us candy."

"They would have if I'd brought the gun," he said, grudgingly.

She laughed. "Just keep driving."

After a few more minutes, the woods opened up and the hills leveled off. There was a large, open meadow, crowded with people and parked cars. A stage was set up at one end, and faint music could be heard coming from that direction.

"Slow down," Kate said excitedly. "It looks like a party."

"I don't _know _those people!" he argued.

"So? There must be a hundred cars parked out there! They won't know the difference. They're probably all drunk, anyway."

Backing up a little, he swung the truck into the rutted entrance. "Sure hope you know what you're gettin' us into," he said with dread.

He parked as far back near the road as he could. They both got out and stood there for a minute, hesitantly. The band, some kind of bluegrass-rock fusion, finished up a song, and loud whoops and cheers could be heard from the other end of the field.

"Put your eye-patch back on," Kate said, handing it to him.

With a sigh, he pulled it on. She adjusted her veil and they started nervously toward the center of the meadow, where groups of people were standing or milling around. It was a large crowd, and most of them appeared to be very young, in their early twenties. Almost everybody was in costume, some more elaborate than others.

Kate reached out and grabbed Sawyer's hand. He squeezed it, knowing that this was the first time she'd been around people she didn't know in months. Although it wasn't likely anybody would be able to recognize her in her disguise, it was nerve-wracking all the same.

"Uh-oh, Freckles... don't look now," he said in a joking tone, remembering her irrational phobia. "There's a clown over there."

She glanced over at the area he pointed out, smiling and looking disturbed at the same time.

"How can you _possibly _not think that's creepy?" she asked him.

"You want me to go kick his ass?"

"I think a random clown beating might draw a little too much attention to us, don't you? But thanks for the offer."

They shared an amused look, but then their attention was distracted by an obviously very inebriated blonde who staggered up to them with a tray. She looked a little bit like Shannon, Kate thought with distaste.

"Hey, sailor," she said in a flirtatious tone to Sawyer, looking him up and down.

Kate stepped in front of him. "He's a _pirate_, not a sailor," she said sharply.

Sawyer looked down at her with delight. It was the first time he'd ever seen her show even a hint of jealousy, and he enjoyed it immensely.

"Oh," the girl said, disappointed at the presence of a _girlfriend_. But luckily, her emotional attention span wasn't long. Examining Kate, she gushed in a heavy Southern accent, "Oh my goodness, I love your gypsy costume! You're Alpha Delta Pi, right?"

"Um.. yeah," Kate replied, taken aback. "Thanks... I like yours too. What... what exactly are you supposed to be?" The girl was wearing what appeared to be lingerie stolen from the Moulin Rouge wardrobe.

"I'm a hooker!" the girl said loudly as the band started to play again.

"Oh!" Kate shouted, glancing at Sawyer with an incredulous irony. "Well, it's very convincing!"

"_Thank you!" _the girl said with sincerity, placing her hand on her heart. "Bless yer heart! Ya'll have some jello shots, all right?" She held out the tray of paper cups containing orange and black-dyed jello. "They're real strong!"

Kate took one with hesitation. Sawyer took two.

"I'll see you around!" she called out as she went off in the other direction toward a group of similarly-clad girls.

"Sawyer," Kate said warningly.

"_What_?"

"You're driving."

"Sweetheart, you got me dressed in a pirate costume, standin' out in a field with a bunch of frat boys and sorority girls. You gotta let me have _somethin' _to make it worth it."

She sighed, giving up.

"Bottoms up," he said with a smile. Kate lifted the veil slightly and pretended to swallow the vodka-laced jello, surreptitiously dropping it to the ground. Sawyer didn't notice.

They wandered closer to the stage, listening for a while to the mediocre band, whose members also appeared to be drunk. When the musicians took their next break, the two of them walked down the edge of the field, slowly, enjoying the chance to be out, to be doing something relatively normal, blending into the crowd with people whose lives weren't lived on the edge of catastrophe, pretending for the moment that they had something in common with them.

Kate leaned against the split-rail fence, gazing up at the moon. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" she said softly.

Before Sawyer could answer, a shout reached them from further down the fence line.

"Hey, James! Sally! Wait up!" the voice yelled, although they weren't moving.

"_Oh, shit_," Sawyer muttered through clenched teeth.

Kate looked around in alarm.

Out of the darkness, a chubby, curly-headed man came up to them, reeking of beer and pot. It was Greg. Wearing... _reindeer antlers._

"I knew I seen you two back there!" he said in delight. "Hell of a party, ain't it?"

"Hi, Greg," Kate said with a smile. Although he wasn't exactly who she would have chosen, it was still kind of nice to see a familiar face. "I like your costume."

"Oh, these old things?" he asked modestly, touching the antlers. "I had 'em left over from Christmas, and I figured, why waste a good costume when you can use it twice?"

"Now why didn't _we _think of that, Sally?" Sawyer asked sarcastically.

Kate ignored him. "How was Florida?"

"Florida?" Greg looked confused.

"You just got back from Florida..." she prompted him. "You were visiting your uncle?"

"Oh, right!" he said, the lights going on. "I got this Ginka boloney stuff I'm s'posed to take for my memory...'cept the thing is, I can't ever remember to take it."

"Gingko Biloba?" Kate supplied.

"That's it! You got to take that shit, too? But anyway, Florida was great. That uncle of mine, he's one hell of a farmer. 'Course, his tomatoes don't amount to much, but his pot sure does make up for it. I brought some with me, if you want to try it..." He started to fiddle around with his pocket.

"That's okay!" Kate said quickly, holding up her hand. "Maybe later."

"Well, you just let me know," he said gallantly. "It's on the house."

Kate nodded. "Thanks."

"Only bad thing about the trip was, they confiscated my passport comin' back over the border."

"The _border_?" Kate asked, thinking she'd misunderstood.

"Yeah... You don't want to mess around with them border patrol guys. They mean _business_, let me tell you."

She decided not to inquire further. It couldn't possibly lead to any enlightenment.

"So, what have you two been up to?" Greg asked, obviously intending to prolong the conversation.

Kate tried to think of something that they could tell him without danger. Sawyer wasn't being any help.

"We got a dog," she offered tentatively.

"No shit? I'm more of a cat person myself. But... hey, James," he said looking at Sawyer. "You 'member that one dog you used to have that rescued them kids from that abandoned mineshaft? And it was on the news, and they had a big parade, and the governor came down and gave him a medal?"

"What the hell are you_ talkin' about_?" Sawyer asked, looking bewildered.

"Or maybe I seen that on _Lassie_," Greg said, scratching his head.

Kate was immensely grateful for the veil covering her face. She managed to disguise her laugh with a cough.

"We better be hittin' the road, don't you think, Sally?" Sawyer hinted.

"Well, it sure was good to see you," Greg said, slapping Sawyer on the back. "Hey, before you two leave, I gotta joke for you. I just heard this from one of my buddies in the band... This'll crack you up. Okay, you ready?... _What did the naked man say to the elephant_?"

Greg waited in expectant glee.

Kate shrugged her shoulders while Sawyer rolled his eyes.

"You give up? He said... _It's real cute, but can it pick up peanuts_?"

They continued to stare at him blankly.

"Hold on," he said, thinking. "Maybe it was the _elephant _that said that to the _naked man_. Aw, well," he said, giving up. "Take my word for it, it's funny as hell."

"Bye, Greg," Kate said, as Sawyer started to drag her off.

"You two take care, now! You sure look better when you're not all scrawny, Sal!"

She glanced incredulously up at Sawyer as he led her to the center of the field, back into the crowd. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"That's it," she said firmly. "I'm going on a diet."

Before he got a chance to reply, however, two men - boys, actually - collided with the two of them, falling to the ground in between them. They rolled in a furious, twisting mass, pummeling each other, and within seconds, there were dozens of people jumping onto the pile, either trying to break it up or join in. A few girls screamed, and as the crowd closed in, forcing her backwards, Kate realized that she could no longer see Sawyer.

She attempted to pull herself out of the ever-widening ring of people, hoping to gain enough distance to circle back around and find him. But she quickly became disoriented and couldn't even tell which direction she'd been facing. The people continued to push against her, and she experienced a rising sensation of panic which she tried desperately to tamp down. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort to focus her mind.

Suddenly, she felt hands grip her around the waist from behind, tugging her. Operating on instinct, she spun around and tried to beat them off, using all her strength but feeling the grip only tighten in response.

"It's me!" Sawyer shouted, and she finally distinguished the ridiculous red kerchief on his head. The eye-patch must have gotten lost in the melee.

Feeling a wave of relief so palpable that it almost made her collapse, she let him guide her through the riotous crowd over to an empty area, slightly elevated above the chaos.

She sat down, hanging onto his arm. He lowered himself beside her, letting out his breath slowly.

"You still think this was such a good idea?" he asked.

She didn't say anything. She was trying to slow her heartbeat.

A female voice rose above the din, screaming in outrage, "I hope you assholes are happy now, because Becky just called the cops!"

Kate looked over at Sawyer. "Guess that's our cue, huh?" Through the veil, he could distinguish a sad smile.

With a sigh, he stood up, holding out his hand. She took it, and they headed toward the truck.

* * *

She was quieter on the drive back. Considering everything, they'd been lucky, but it still wasn't the way either of them had wanted the night to end. Getting an idea, Sawyer turned onto a different road before they reached the house. Since Kate wasn't familiar with the area anyway, she didn't notice his change in direction.

He pulled into the gravel parking lot of a small, old-fashioned diner, isolated out in the middle of nowhere. There was only one other car there.

"What's this?" Kate asked when he cut the engine. "A restaurant?"

"Stay there," he said mysteriously, hopping out of the driver's side. He came around to her door and opened it for her, with a comic gallantry that made her laugh.

"Is it even open?" she asked him, sliding down from the seat.

"The lights are still on," he said, glancing toward the building.

They approached the door. Although there was no sign that said _open_ or _closed_, the door was unlocked, so they went on in.

Sitting at a table near the register, painting her nails, was a wiry, sour, tired-looking older woman in a waitress uniform. She looked up when she heard the bell tinkle, and upon seeing their costumes, rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust. Sighing loudly, she pulled herself up and grabbed two menus from the counter.

"Smokin' or Non?" she asked without ceremony as she approached them. Her name tag identified her as Grace, which couldn't be more inappropriate.

Sawyer looked around. "It's just one big room, ain't it?"

"Well, it makes people feel better if I ask," she said in an irritated voice. "Smart-ass," she added, thrusting the menus at him. "Sit where you want." Going back over to her table, she plopped into the chair and resumed her manicure.

Sawyer looked at Kate, wordlessly. She led the way back to the corner, to the booth that was the farthest removed from everything else.

They slid into the cushioned seats and faced each other. Even though they'd faced each other across the kitchen table at Sawyer's house hundreds of times before, this still felt strange. It was the only time they'd ever been _out _together, like a normal couple. They'd been sleeping together for a month, but this was their first date. Both of them seemed to realize it at the same time, and Kate looked awkwardly down at the menu.

"Thought you were goin' on a diet," he said teasingly.

She gave him a scornful look, closing it. "I'll just have coffee."

When the waitress came over, he ordered coffee for both of them.

"That's it?" she said hatefully, lowering her notepad.

"That's it, Grace," Sawyer echoed with a gleam in his eye, handing her back the menus.

She shook her head indignantly, as if she couldn't believe she had to deal with this crap. A few seconds later she returned and sat their cups down heavily in front of them. Without a word, she poured the coffee and left, stalking back toward the kitchen.

Sawyer raised his eyebrows at Kate. "I think she likes me," he said in a confidential tone.

She smiled. "So it would appear."

Carefully, she pulled her veil over her head and sipped from the cup, grimacing at how strong it was. Sawyer watched her, still fascinated by her transformed appearance.

"_What_?" she finally asked, growing uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

"Just wonderin' if I get three wishes or not."

"That's a genie you're thinking of, not a gypsy," she said wryly.

"Oh," he said, feeling like an idiot. "Then what the hell's a gypsy do?"

"I don't know..." she considered. "I guess... Tells your fortune, or looks into a crystal ball?"

"All right then," he said. "What do you see in my future?" He looked at her intently, not entirely joking.

She was quiet for a minute, looking at the table, and then she smiled sadly. "We don't do that, remember?"

"Do what?"

"Think about the future," she whispered.

He was disappointed in her for some reason, although he couldn't have explained why. "_Yeah_," he said quietly, looking away.

She allowed a suitable pause to elapse, examining the diner with curiosity.

"Do you have any change?" she suddenly asked, sounding like she was up to something.

"Why?" he asked, suspicious.

She gestured over to the other corner of the room, where an antique jukebox hunkered back underneath a neon Coca-Cola sign.

"Nope," he said quickly.

She didn't believe him. "You do, too."

"Sorry... All out of change."

She continued to stare at him, hard. "I promise I won't make you dance, okay?"

He thought for a second, wondering if he could trust her. "Swear to it?"

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just give me the money."

With reluctance, he pulled out his wallet and handed her a few quarters. Looking like she felt vaguely sorry for him, she crossed the room to the jukebox as he watched her with interest.

The song _Crazy _began to play as she returned and sat down again, the country twang familiar to him from his childhood.

"_Patsy Cline_?" he asked, thinking she must have hit the wrong button.

"What? You don't like her?"

"Hadn't really given it much thought," he answered truthfully.

"The guy who was helping me hide out in Australia... He _loved _Patsy Cline," she said, lost in memory.

"The one who turned you in?" Sawyer asked, feeling angry even though it was all in the past.

"Yeah." Her expression clouded slightly. "The farmer."

"You and him weren't... _you know_..." Sawyer said, looking squeamish. "Were you?"

"Sawyer!" she said, disgusted. "He was in his sixties, at least!"

"Well," he answered in defense. "If I was in _my _sixties, _I'd _still be tryin' to sleep with ya." He gave her a mischievous smile.

She closed her eyes briefly. "There's no doubt in my mind that that's true."

They were quiet for a few seconds, and she hummed softly to the music, tapping her fingers on the table, doing her best to seem forlorn.

Sawyer looked tormented. Finally, he exhaled loudly, with resignation. "Fine! But just for the rest of this song, you got that?"

She smiled at him, her exaggerated despondence vanishing in an instant. Standing up, she pulled him from the table. "Deal," she agreed.

Moving out away from the booth a little, he glanced around the diner, warily.

"Nobody's watching," she assured him.

Kate put her arms around his neck and forced him to sway slightly to the music, although he did his best to resist.

"You aren't even moving your feet!" she protested.

"You didn't say anything about havin' to move my feet."

"How exactly would you define _dancing_?"

"I'm out here, aren't I? That'll have to be good enough."

She pressed herself against him, leaning her head onto his shoulder, and he brought his hands up to her lower back, enthralled by the way her skin felt through the thin, silky fabric of the costume. He continued to move his hands lower and lower, surprised that she was letting him.

When the song ended, she brushed her lips lightly against his and then pulled back before he could really kiss her, giving him the exact same treatment he'd given her earlier at the house. Sliding into the seat, she looked back at him with an arch, wicked smile. He tried to convince his pulse to return to normal.

After he'd lowered himself back down into the seat across from her, however, it became all too clear that she wasn't going to assist him with that noble ambition at all. Within a few seconds, he felt her bare foot inching its way slowly up his leg, massaging gently, even her toes getting into the act. He was stunned, but he didn't say anything. They continued to stare at each other challengingly across the table as her foot rose higher and higher. He swallowed hard when it reached his lap, and he felt himself stirring in response. Christ, _what was she doing?_

"You tryin' to start somethin', Freckles?" he asked softly.

"Maybe." She shrugged.

Alarmed, he noticed the waitress returning to refill their coffee cups. He was positive that Kate would now drop her foot back down to the floor, but she didn't. Instead, she increased her pressure, and he noticed a dangerous edge in her eyes, implying that on some level, she was enjoying this perhaps a little _too _much.

"Scuse me, ma'am?" Kate suddenly asked, startling him. The waitress looked over at her. In an accent that was a flawless imitation of the girl from the party earlier, she continued. "Do ya'll have a bathroom somewhere?"

"It's for employees only," the waitress barked.

"I understand that." Kate lowered her voice, the picture of bashful Southern modesty. She twirled her hair. "It's just that... I've had an awful lot to drink tonight, ma'am. I'm sure you understand."

The waitress looked as if she didn't even _remotely _understand, and was actually offended at the notion that she _might _understand. She sighed, however, giving in. "Down the hall past the kitchen, on the left."

"Thank you, ma'am," Kate said, raising her hand to her chest. "Bless yer heart."

The waitress glared at them both and retreated back to the kitchen.

Sawyer stared at Kate in astonishment. "Who the hell _are _you?"

She smiled at him, not answering. Standing up, she leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Wait a few minutes. Then meet me back there."

Without giving him time to protest, she disappeared into the hall.

He sat there in excited shock. This was a side of her he'd never seen before, although he had to admit, he'd suspected its existence. Perhaps unfortunately, it was something that he recognized all too well - that thrill of danger that accompanies living on the edge, bending the rules, getting away with whatever you can. They reviled their criminal pasts, but perhaps there was a small part of both of them that would forever be drawn to that illicit peril, that electrifying risk that heightened and amplified reality. It was possible that once you'd acquired a taste for it, there was no going back, no matter what nightmarish circumstances had led you to it to begin with.

But he certainly wasn't in the mood for philosophical quandaries now. The sensation of her foot still lingered in his lap, and he anxiously watched the clock above the front door. When exactly two minutes had elapsed, he followed her down the hall.

About fifteen minutes later, the waitress and the few other customers were startled by a loud, breathless cry that came from the direction of the bathroom. It was quickly muffled.

The waitress hurried back, bewildered, and pounded on the door. "What happened?"

There was an extended pause in which the sound of shuffling and whispers could be heard from the other side. She knocked again, angrily.

The door was opened slowly, with dignity, and Kate stepped out, flushed. In an offended voice, she said, "Ya'll got spiders in there the size' a lobsters. Lucky he knows how to kill 'em."

Sawyer followed her out, smiling proudly. In what he hoped was an inconspicuous gesture, he zipped his pants up.

* * *

Nearly falling down with laughter, they managed to climb into the truck and pull away before anybody was able to interrogate them further. Kate sat close to Sawyer's side, leaning against him peacefully. The veil had accidentally been left behind in the booth at the diner, and her makeup was practically all rubbed off, but it didn't matter now. They were almost home.

As they neared the driveway, Sawyer slowed the truck to bypass a car parked on the side of the road.

"Looks like someone had car trouble," he said.

"Should we stop?" Kate asked, concerned.

He peered at the car, which was dark and apparently abandoned. "Must've already got a ride," he said, relieved.

He pulled around it and drove the remaining few yards to the driveway. Glancing back through the rear window, Kate watched the car until it was out of sight, then turned slowly back around.

Although she couldn't have said why, the sight of it gave her a distinct feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.


	35. Chapter 35

Misty: Thanks for posting the _Crazy _lyrics.. I considered doing that, but I didn't want to seem pushy. ;) Better if someone else does it.. Although, just because they _suggest_ something, doesn't necessarily mean they _predict_ something. That vague enough?

I hope people aren't going to hate me too much after this chapter... What would a story be without angst?

* * *

**C****hapter Thirty-Five**

For a few seconds after Sawyer stopped the truck, they didn't move. The silence of the night pressed in on them, disturbed only by a slight breeze and the chirping of the late-autumn crickets. They'd left a few lights on in random rooms, and the house now gave off a comforting, lived-in glow. They sat and looked at it. Kate shivered slightly.

"Cold?" Sawyer asked, looking down at her.

"A little."

"Guess we better get inside." He reluctantly pulled his arm away from her shoulders, and she missed the warm weight of it almost immediately. She would have preferred to just sit there for a while longer, in the dark. For some reason, she was in no hurry to get inside.

"Hope you don't forget your promise, though," he said as they slammed their doors simultaneously.

"What promise?" she asked, having no idea what he was talking about.

"You gotta keep the costume on for a few hours, remember?" He gave her a knowing grin as they walked up to the house.

"That wasn't a _promise_," she said defensively, smiling. "Besides, aren't you tired after the diner?"

"Nope," he smiled, unlocking the kitchen door. "Just gettin' warmed up."

She rolled her eyes. "That's what I was afraid of."

He pushed the door open and leaned against the doorframe, gesturing inside. "Ladies first."

She started past him and then paused, retreating back a step to lean up and kiss him. "Thanks," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For the _date_." They smiled at each other.

Pulling away, Kate stepped into the kitchen. Sawyer followed, closing and re-locking the door. He pulled off his head-kerchief and tossed it, along with the keys, onto the kitchen table. Opening the refrigerator, he examined its contents with interest.

Kate poked her head into the pantry, where the dog's bed was kept. "Gus?"

She came back out. "That's weird... He isn't in there."

"Probably on the couch," Sawyer said, sounding annoyed.

She headed toward the living room, while he continued to peer into the fridge. Did he want a sandwich, or just a beer? Or should he have both? But if he did that...

"_Sawyer_!"

Her cry of shock ripped through his mundane thoughts with the force of an axe. Not bothering to close the door, he hurried to where her voice had come from, his heart starting up a sickening thud in his chest.

She was in the front hall, kneeling over something. There was only one dim lamp on in the living room, and not much of its light filtered out here. He took a step closer. Before he could say anything, she spoke again, sounding shaky and heartbroken, in disbelief.

"He's still warm..."

She moved aside a little, looking back at him, and he could just barely discern Gus lying motionless on the floor.

"Sorry about that," a voice came from the living room. Slowly, a man stepped out of the shadows, pointing a gun at Kate. She scrambled backwards, pulling herself off the floor and backing into Sawyer, who tried to push her behind him to shield her. They stared at the man in shock.

"I like dogs... I really do. I've always been a... a really big dog-lover. A... uh, a dog-_connoisseur_, if you will. So, it's nothing personal against him. Really, if you think about it, it's the humane thing to do. Because of course, after I kill you, who's gonna feed him? You wouldn't want him to starve to death, would you?"

They both continued to stare at him, gripping each other's arms desperately. The guy was short, wearing a v-necked sweater over a button-down shirt, wrinkled khakis, and loafers. He had black-framed glasses and tousled, unruly brown hair, and he possessed all the hallmarks of a scientist or a professor. Incongruously, he looked and sounded a little bit like... _Woody Allen_. The gun in his hand shook slightly, and it was clear that he wasn't accustomed to this.

Sawyer swallowed, his entire body tensed. All he could think of was that he _didn't have the gun_. She'd made him take it out of his pocket. _Why the hell had he listened to her?_ He glanced over quickly at the hall table, but the pistol was no longer there. Maybe this guy wasn't a pro, but he'd at least managed that much.

He was now staring at the two of them curiously, like he was waiting for something. Sawyer could feel Kate trembling very slightly.

"Well?" he finally asked. They didn't say anything.

He sighed, lowering the gun for just a fraction of a second as he brought his arms down and shook his head in disgust. "Unbelievable..." he muttered. "You don't even recognize me, do you? Okay, so maybe I'm not the most...the most _memorable _guy in the world... But you think, you know, you destroy a guy's _life_, that seeing him again might ring a bell!"

"I'm sorry," Kate finally whispered, fighting back tears. "I don't remember you at all."

He looked at her, confused. "Not _you_!" he said with scorn. "Him!" He angled the gun more towards Sawyer now.

Kate looked up at him, not understanding any of this. Sawyer didn't appear to, either.

"Okay, fair enough," the guy continued, as if he conceded the point. "So maybe you don't remember me. After all, we only met the one time. But I'm willing to bet you remember my _wife_, right? Tara? Does that sound at all familiar?"

Sawyer drew in his breath, tilting his head back almost imperceptibly, faint recognition dawning in his eyes. _Tara_. Tara Rosenberg. And this was the husband. He remembered them both now - their townhouse in New York, the satin sheets of their bed, the hot tub downstairs, Tara naked and holding a cosmo, the meeting with the husband at a fancy restaurant... It had been an easy scam, taking only a few days. Neither one of them had been hard to convince. It had gone so smoothly that he barely even recalled it.

"Yeah," the guy said, nodding, seeing Sawyer register the name. "I thought that might do the trick. After all, I'm sure you and she had some _nice times _together. It's too bad I couldn't bring her along," he went on, thoughtfully. "It's just that she did the _craziest _thing a few months ago. She was on this bridge, driving, and then she just... drove off the side of it. Took three whole days before the divers could get her body out."

Sawyer felt Kate grip his arm tighter.

"I know, right?" he said, seeing their dismay. "It doesn't sound like anything Tara would do. But I think _maybe _it had something to do with the fact that, with a baby on the way, it was a little difficult to figure out how we would _survive_, considering we didn't have a cent left _and _I'd lost my job. She always did have a guilty conscience, even when she didn't have anything to feel guilty _about_. I'm thinking it probably just went into overload on that bridge. Of course, that's really just a guess, because she didn't leave a note."

Kate closed her eyes as if in pain. Sawyer was frozen, unable to react, trying to make sense of all of this.

"Who's this?" the guy now asked, looking at Kate as if he hadn't really noticed her before. "Is this _your _wife, by any chance?" There was a gleam of hate-filled, dangerous interest in his eyes.

"_No_," Sawyer finally answered, raggedly. "She don't have nothin' to do with this."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he answered, in an exaggerated politeness. "Is she another job? Am I ruining it?" He turned to Kate. "Are you married, sweetheart?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Well, then," he looked back at Sawyer. "Guess this must be the _real thing _then, huh?"

Sawyer looked at him lethally, breathing hard.

"Come over here," he said to Kate. She didn't move, and Sawyer didn't let go of her.

"Excuse me, miss!" the guy called, waving his arms as if to get her notice. "It may not have come to your attention that I am HOLDING A GUN. Come over here, now!"

She pulled her arm away from Sawyer's grasp, and their eyes met. Slowly, she tore her gaze away and crossed over to the end of the hall. Proving to be stronger than he looked, the guy gripped her arm and spun her around, pressing the barrel of the gun into her back.

"How about we all move into the other room where we'll be more comfortable, shall we? You first," he said to Sawyer. "In there." He cocked his head toward the living room.

Not taking his eyes off of Kate, his hands clearly itching to attack the guy but his rational faculties doing their best to restrain him, Sawyer stepped into the room.

Pushing Kate ahead of him, the guy said, "I'm Norman, by the way."

"Kate," she whispered through tears.

"Nice to meet you, Kate," he said, with irony.

"You sit there," he told Sawyer, gesturing toward a chair. "We'll take the sofa... Is that all right with you, Kate?" She didn't answer.

When they were all seated, the gun still pressed uncomfortably against Kate's back, Norman spoke.

"So, you're, uh... you're probably wondering why I brought you in here. Well, I'll be honest... This is my first murder, and I thought maybe we should all get to know each other a little better before we start. You probably think that sounds strange, but it took me months to track you down, and I think it would be, well, really a little anti-climactic if everything went too quickly. You see what I mean?"

They didn't answer. He sighed.

Looking curiously from one to the other, examining their clothing, he asked, "So, what are you two, in some kind of religious cult or something?"

"It's Halloween," Kate explained in a shaking voice.

Norman did a double-take. "_Today _is Halloween? _Today_," he repeated, incredulous. "Are you sure about that?"

She nodded, alarmed.

"_Jesus_," he said under his breath, contemptuously. "I can't believe this... Of all nights. I mean, come on.. _Halloween_? Me coming here to kill you, on Halloween? That's just so cliché. It's so... so trite, and... and _overused_, you know? I hope you don't think I planned it this way." He seemed truly embarrassed.

Sawyer sat forward on the edge of his seat, and Kate shook her head at him, so slightly it was barely discernible. It was too dangerous. The guy was a loose cannon... his eyes were wild, crazed. There was no guarantee of getting to him before the gun went off. She tried to make him understand all this, although he probably already knew it.

Noticing the look that passed between them, Norman dug the gun more deeply into Kate, causing her to wince. "I'd pay attention to her if I were you," he said to Sawyer. "She seems like a pretty smart girl. Other than the fact that she's with _you_, of course. Must have been a lapse in judgment."

"If you're just gonna kill us both anyway, what difference would it make?" Sawyer asked quietly, looking him straight in the eye.

"Not much difference to _me_," he answered. "It's you I was thinking of. See, the thing about a gun is, you can put it just about anywhere. I shoot her here," he said thoughtfully, keeping the gun at her back, "I tear her lung, it'll probably take an hour or two for her to die. I do it _here_," he moved the gun around to her stomach, and Kate drew in her breath and shut her eyes tightly, "then it'll take a lot longer than just a few hours. And it won't be pretty. On the other hand, I shoot her _here, _like I was planning to," he said, resting the tip of the barrel on her temple, "the lights go out like that." He snapped his fingers. "So, it's your choice, really. Either way, you're gonna watch it."

Sawyer settled back down into the chair, looking helpless and sick. He had absolutely no idea what to do. Any movement he made would put Kate at risk.

They were all silent for a few seconds. Norman seemed to be disgusted with himself. "_Halloween_," he muttered under his breath. "I just can't get over it."

"You want to reschedule?" Sawyer asked savagely, unable to help himself. Kate shot him a desperate warning look.

"That's _hilarious_," Norman said with sarcasm. "I bet he's a real comedian, right?" he asked Kate.

She didn't look at him.

"Yeah... I was never good at the jokes, myself. I'm a scientist... Not usually the funniest guys you come across. I developed this special kind of plastic that the CIA uses for... Well, I'm not really supposed to talk about it." He paused. "Of course, since I'm going to spend the rest of my life in prison for murder, I suppose it doesn't really matter now, does it?" He snorted. "What do you know.. I guess I _am _funny."

He thought for a second, his face growing softer, in memory. "Tara always thought I was, anyway. Or at least she _said _she did. Maybe she was just trying to make me feel better." He reached into his back pocket with his free hand and pulled out his wallet. "You want to see her?" He held the wallet out to Kate. Reluctantly, she took it.

"It's the first picture in there." She still didn't open it. "Go ahead," he urged her.

Taking a shaky breath, Kate gingerly opened the wallet and flipped to the clear plastic folders, holding it open on the first one. She gazed down at it, sadly.

"She's beautiful," she said in a whisper.

"_Was_," Norman corrected her, bitterly. "_Was _beautiful. And I know what you're thinking," he went on. "How on earth could a woman like _that _ever marry somebody like me? Right?"

Kate looked over at him. "I wasn't thinking that at all," she said gently.

"Yeah? Well, you're the only one, then. It must be the first thought anybody ever had when they saw the two of us together. I know it must have been what _he _thought," he said, shooting a piercing glance at Sawyer. "I mean, let's be honest... Why would any woman sleep with a guy like me, when she could have a guy like _that_?" He turned back to Kate. "I mean, _you're _a beautiful woman... Tell me the truth.. Would you ever sleep with a guy like me?"

She was at a loss for words. "I..." she stammered. "I don't know anything at all about you."

"What a polite response," he said, rolling his eyes. "Thank you for that. But seriously, you know you wouldn't. And why? Because you can get guys like him. I mean, how am I supposed to compete with that? I spent my time as a kid building dinosaur models.. and reading comic books, and... and playing Dungeons and Dragons." He looked sharply at Sawyer. "Did _you _ever play Dungeons and Dragons?"

"No," he said, teeth clenched.

"I didn't think so." Norman shook his head. "You see what I mean?" he asked Kate. "Even his name is cool. _Sawyer_," he said enviously. "How cool is that? With a name like Norman, did I really stand a chance?"

"It's not his real name," Kate said quietly, unable to think of anything else.

"Really?" he asked, intrigued and hopeful. "What's his real name?"

She looked at Sawyer, not wanting to answer, but having no choice now. "James," she whispered.

"_James_," Norman spat contemptuously. "That's even _more _cool than Sawyer! I can't win with you people!" He looked hopeless.

After a few seconds, he sighed, collecting himself. "It's not like I didn't know the truth... I mean, I _knew _she would cheat on me. Can you really blame her? But I didn't even care. I know that sounds hard to believe, but I really didn't. Just as long as she stayed with me, I didn't care what she did when I wasn't around. Pretty pathetic, right? But I loved her. I loved her so much that..." his voice threatened to break. "That I would have done _anything _to make her happy. Anything at all." He swallowed hard, the pressure of the gun slacking off a bit.

Sawyer marveled at the pain on Kate's face as she listened to the guy. Here he was, holding a gun on her, and she was feeling _sorry _for the bastard. Her heart was so big that it had room for everybody else's pain in addition to her own. He stared at her, hard, believing in some irrational way that he could protect her just by focusing all his thoughts on her, concentrating on everything she meant to him.

"Do you have any idea what that's like?" Norman asked Kate. "To love somebody even when you know there's no rational reason for you to?"

"Actually, I do," she said softly, meeting his eyes, trying to make a connection. "Love isn't rational. If you're a scientist, then you must know that."

"I guess so," he agreed. "I suppose I just never thought it would lead to anything like this. I figured, someday, she'd get tired of those other guys, and then she'd appreciate the fact that I'd stuck around. Who knows? Maybe she would have," he said bitterly.

"I just wanted to take care of her, you know?" he asked, nearing tears again. "Her and the baby. We tried a long time to have kids, but it just didn't happen. Then finally, _finally_... she gets pregnant, but only after everything had fallen apart and we'd stopped trying. And you're probably thinking, how do I know it was even mine? Because after _him_, there wasn't anybody but me." He shot an accusing look at Sawyer. "After he took everything, she barely even left the house. Until we lost _it _too, since we couldn't make the payments."

"It was a girl," he continued, almost in awe. "The baby was, I mean. We already had one of those things done... What are they called?"

"An ultrasound," Kate supplied, looking haunted.

"Yeah, one of those. And we even had a name picked out already. _Elizabeth_. What do you think?" he asked, as if he truly wanted her opinion.

Kate gave him a weak, tentative smile. "Elizabeth is my middle name."

"No kidding?" he asked, surprised. He stared at her for a few seconds, the arm holding the gun trembling slightly. Sawyer watched her too, wondering if that was the truth. She certainly looked sincere.

"Are you Irish?" Norman suddenly asked, still staring intently at Kate.

She looked confused, not knowing how to respond.

"Because most people who have freckles are Irish. Or at least have an Irish ancestor. That's not really.. _scientific_," he admitted. "It's just a... just a little something I've noticed."

"I think my great-grandparents were Irish," she said, slowly, trying to sound calm.

"You see?" he asked, pleased. "I thought so."

He turned to Sawyer, questioningly. "Oh, and before I forget, I have to ask... now that I'm here. You took $200,000 from me, which was pretty much all I had. Was that some kind of joke? I mean, would it have taken all of the fun out of it to steal it from a _really _rich guy, where it wouldn't have made much of a dent? Or do you just get off on cleaning people out entirely?"

Sawyer looked slightly surprised, the realization dawning on him gradually. "She said you had millions stashed away... That you were this brilliant scientist, like the _Bill Gates of chemistry_, or some shit like that."

"She_ said _that?" he asked, touched. "She said I was brilliant?"

He now seemed to drift off a little, his vision getting stuck on something in the past, his eyes not really focusing on the room. It was possible he was on drugs, or at least very drunk. Sawyer again considered trying to wrest the gun away from him, but before he could make up his mind, Norman shook himself out of his reverie and said, matter-of-factly, "I guess we should get this show on the road, huh?"

In a quick, fluid motion, he raised the gun from Kate's back to her temple, cocking it with a clicking sound. "Do you want to count to three, or shall I?"

Sawyer tensed, using all the willpower he possessed not to take a flying leap at the guy, which would almost certainly cause the gun to go off. If he could be sure that the bullet would only hit him, then he would do it without hesitation. But it would most likely fire where it was aimed... into her head.

"Wait," Kate pleaded weakly.

"For what?" Norman asked, making an effort to remain steady. "What would you do if someone killed the person you love and destroyed your entire life? Wouldn't you want to make them pay? _Wouldn't you_?" he repeated when she didn't answer.

"Yes," she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I would. But... Norman?"

The sound of his own name affected him, as she seemed to have known it would. He looked startled.

"What?"

Her voice wavered slightly. "There's something you need to know, first. Before you make this decision. Would you listen to me, please? For just a second?"

It was obvious that he was considering, wondering whether to finish the job now or to let her speak first. To Sawyer, it felt like time had stopped.

Finally, with excruciating slowness, he lowered the gun from her temple down to her back again. Kate closed her eyes, letting her breath out.

"What is it?"

She turned to him, meeting his gaze, forcing him to look at her. "Have you ever done anything terrible before?" He didn't answer, and she continued. "Something that tortures you every single day... Something that's so bad, it's the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning, and the last thing you remember before you go to sleep at night? And you can't even _escape _from it in sleep, because you have to re-live it in your nightmares?"

Her voice was broken, haunted. "Have you ever done anything like that? Because I don't think you have, Norman. I think... that you're a good person, who's led a good life." She spoke slowly and deliberately. "But the _second _you pull that trigger, none of that counts anymore at all. It's like it didn't even happen... that's how much difference it'll make. Like that was a different person completely... a different life that you can _never _get back to, no matter how hard you try, or how long you live."

He was listening to her, drawn in by her words, by the force of conviction behind them. Sawyer watched her as well, mesmerized and tormented, momentarily forgetting the danger of the situation. It occurred to him, forcefully, that if anybody was going to save their lives tonight, it would be her, not him.

"He killed my wife," Norman whispered, his face a mask of pain and bewilderment. "He _killed _her."

Kate swallowed hard, and more tears ran down her cheeks, but her voice remained calm and firm. "But there's nothing you can do that will ever bring her back. And what you _think _will make you feel better... what you think will make it hurt less, or make it easier to bear... It won't. It'll make it a thousand times worse. Right now, you can't even imagine... can't even _comprehend_... what it'll be like, to live the rest of your life, knowing that another human being ceased to exist because of you. Because of a decision you made. That... the lights went out for someone, and you were the one who flipped the switch. You can't know what that's like," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "But _we _do," she glanced over at Sawyer, including him. "So please believe me when I tell you... that this moment is the most important one of your life. Because if you make the wrong decision now..." She shook her head slightly. "You don't get a second chance. _Ever_."

Norman gazed out at the room, his resolve clearly weakening. His lower lip trembled slightly, and his left hand balled itself into a fist.

"You came here to do this for your wife... for _Tara_," Kate said softly. "But if you really loved her as much as you _say _you did, then you probably already know that she wouldn't have wanted you to." She paused. "You know what I think? I think... that what Tara really wanted you to do, was to start over. And maybe, in a way, that's what she was trying to give you the chance to do."

"I don't want to start over without her," he said, sounding like a hurt child.

"I know," Kate said in an understanding tone. "But there isn't any other way to do it."

"How could I, even if I wanted to? I don't have anything _left_. Or don't you remember that part?"

"You can have your money back," she said in a firm tone. "You managed to track him down... You can at least get your money back."

"I don't want the _money_. The money doesn't mean anything."

"Tara drove off a bridge because of that money. She _killed _herself over it," Kate said sharply. "So how can you say it doesn't mean anything?"

He looked like he was considering her words.

"She would have wanted you to get it back."

He finally met her eyes again, and it seemed he'd come to some kind of decision, although he didn't say anything. Kate held his gaze for a few seconds, and then nodded. "Sawyer," she asked carefully. "Do you have your checkbook?"

"It's upstairs." He had a feeling it wouldn't be a good idea to mention the fact that he didn't have anywhere _near _$200,000. At least not in one account.

"Will you let him go get it?" she asked Norman.

All the earlier intensity had died out of his eyes, but a new idea was growing there. He spoke in a strange, flat, emotionless voice. "Yeah. Go get it."

Sawyer stood up, a little unsteadily, keeping a close eye on the gun still pressed against Kate's back. Norman added, "And in case you get any brilliant ideas about bringing a weapon back in here with you, you should know that she'll be dead before you can even aim it at me."

Kate looked down, still fighting fear, and then back up at Sawyer. "Go get it," she whispered.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and he wondered if she'd ever looked as beautiful to him as she did right now, still in her ridiculous gypsy costume, her makeup mostly worn off, mascara tracks combined with her tears. Her gaze pierced into his heart, the combination of the vulnerability and the simple, unadorned bravery in her expression enough to stop his breath. For the first time, he thought how much stronger she was than him, and how much _wiser_. If the events of tonight had been left in his hands, they'd both already be dead.

Tearing his eyes away from hers, he forced himself to move toward the stairs. His knees were weak and it was like dragging his feet through sand.

Once upstairs, he frantically dug out a gun from his nightstand, disregarding the crazy bastard's warnings. Whether it was stupid or not, he couldn't have stopped himself. It was just second nature. He would keep it concealed, only using it if he thought he had no choice.

Next, he retrieved the checkbook, like he was supposed to. As he quickly flipped through it to make sure there were still checks left, his hands froze as a deafening gunshot echoed through the house.


	36. Chapter 36

Okay, I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you guys do NOT like cliffhangers... Lol. Hopefully, this ending won't torment you quite so much. But thanks so much for reviewing anyway, even if it's just to rant and rave at my evil tactics... ;)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

Sawyer's feet remained rooted to the floor for what felt like hours, but was probably only two seconds at the most. The silence that followed the shot was nearly as deafening as the shot itself had been. It engulfed the house, and he could hear absolutely _nothing_. In the few seconds that he stood there frozen, the certainty lodged itself in his mind that she was dead. She was gone, and he would never see her again. _Kate was dead_.

Not heeding his surroundings at all, he let the checkbook slip from his fingers onto the bed. Moving toward the door and down the hallway was like walking through a dream landscape. Reality shifted and readjusted itself around him, and his own house had the unfamiliar, distorted quality of a place he might have seen once, years before, and then forgotten. He felt his legs moving slowly, much slower than the situation seemed to require, but he couldn't manage to make them go any faster. His body was separated into fragments, and the parts had lost all communication with one another.

As he descended the stairs, he felt his hand move, as if of its own accord, to rest on the gun in his pocket. He knew, even through his foggy haze of vision, that it wasn't for Norman that he was making sure of the location of the weapon. If he found what he expected to find, it was for himself that he would need it.

He neared the entrance to the living room, an expression of horror already convulsing his features in anticipation of what he would find. His hand closed tighter on the gun, and he allowed his mind to flash forward to his plans. First he would check to see if she was all the way gone, and if not, he would force himself to finish the job. Then, he would quickly follow. There would be no hesitation, and no second thoughts. The decision was already made.

When he finally reached the doorway, he paused in shock, having to reconfigure the version of things he had already seen with such clarity in his mind. This didn't correspond at all to the reality he had convinced himself of.

Norman lay crumpled on the hardwood floor, twisted into a grotesque contortion, his head a pulverized mass of red. A pool of blood gradually seeped out around him, growing noticeably larger every second.

"Five... six... s-s-seven... "

He heard her before he saw her, and he finally tore his fixed, unbelieving stare away from the floor and up to the center of the room. Kate was standing there, her arms and face spattered with blood, her hands covering her eyes... _counting_.

"Eight... N-n-nine... ten..." Her voice shook badly and she stuttered on the first letters, choking the words out with an effort.

Sawyer watched her, unable to understand what he was seeing, trying to let himself accept the fact that she was _alive_. It was like a last-minute reprieve that he knew he didn't deserve, and he had to force himself to gain control, to not allow himself to collapse onto his knees in the overwhelming surge of his relief.

Crossing the room to her, he grasped her by the shoulders and felt her jerk away, convulsively. She lowered her hands from her eyes and tried to focus, to register his presence. Turning her head slowly toward the body on the floor, she said in a dazed, wondering tone, "I tried to stop him."

He forcibly turned her away from the mess, pressing her head against his body and pulling her to him with his other arm, squeezing her so tightly that he was probably in danger of cracking a rib. She continued to mutter against his shoulder, in a haunted, broken monotone, "I_ tried to stop him... I tried to stop him... I tried to stop him_." Getting stuck on the phrase, she repeated it like a mantra.

Pulling away from her a little, he shook her, commanding in a hoarse whisper, "Stop it!"

She quit intoning the words, but her expression didn't change. She was deathly pale, and her gaze seemed to look past him rather than at him. Her entire body felt weak and unstable under his grip, swaying slightly, and he could see consciousness flickering dimly back in her eyes - it was clear she had only a tenuous hold on it that she could lose at any point.

"Kate!" he said sharply. "Look at me." She lifted her eyes and was able to focus on him for a second.

Using his fingers, he fiercely rubbed away a smear of blood high on her cheek, grimacing in revulsion. "Don't you _dare _pass out on me, girl... You hear me?" he muttered with clenched teeth.

She didn't say anything. He pressed his hands to the sides of her face and looked at her, desperately.

"Kate," he repeated again. "You're gonna have to help me here... All right? I can't deal with this all on my own.. _I need your help_. Now, are you gonna be able to do that, or not?" He waited, tense.

She closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep, shaky breath, and then let it out slowly. When she opened her eyes again, he was grateful to see a kind of calm resolve there. Some of the color returned to her face, and a heartbroken, weary expression settled over her features. Locking her gaze on his, she gave him a small, firm nod. The gesture relieved him and saddened him at the same time. She had the air of someone who had been faced with this necessity too many times already, and who knew, from experience, that she didn't have the luxury of giving in to hysteria.

Leaning her forehead against his chest again for a few brief seconds, she pulled back and whispered, "I'll go get some sheets."

* * *

After they'd covered Norman's body as well as they could, wrapping it tightly and trying their best not to look at the carnage around his head, Sawyer went to pull the truck around to the front door. While he was gone, Kate gently pulled Gus out of the hallway and laid another sheet over his still body, her hands shaking and tears blurring her vision.

Sawyer came back in as she stood up. They looked at each other silently and then went back into the living room, over to the body. Kate positioned herself at Norman's feet, while Sawyer gripped him from under the arms. Together, they lifted him, half-carrying and half-dragging him out the door, through the front hall, and onto the porch. The sheet was already soaked with blood, and it trailed across the floor, marking their path. Using all their strength, they managed to hoist him into the back of the truck, where Sawyer quickly covered him with a black tarp.

For the second time that night, they climbed into the truck's cab. Kate's mind flashed back to the party and the diner. How could that possibly have happened _tonight_? It felt like five years ago, at least. Those people... that couple who had accepted jello shots from a sorority girl, who had danced in a diner and then had sex in the bathroom... who _were _those people? They were like some imaginary, hallucinated version of themselves. They didn't really exist. It had been a mistake to let themselves think otherwise. Because _this_, right now... this was who they were. This was all they would ever be.

She swallowed hard. "Where are we taking him?"

Sawyer drove carefully down the driveway. He didn't answer her, and she went on.

"Can't we just put him back in his own car? Maybe they'll think he did it there."

"They'll know he didn't do it there," he said quietly.

"How?"

"Because they got ways of findin' that shit out! Haven't you ever seen one of those forensics shows?"

He slowed a little as he reached the spot where the car had been parked on the side of the road.

"It's gone." Kate spoke in shock.

"Dumbass musta left the keys in the ignition... Somebody stole it." He sped up again. "Least that's one thing we don't have to worry about."

They were quiet for a minute. Kate let him drive, not bothering to ask again where they were going. He must have something planned.

The next time she spoke, staring straight ahead through the front window, it was in a soft, contemplative tone of voice. "He put it in his mouth." She paused. "He put the gun in his mouth. I tried to grab it... to stop him... and it went off."

Slowly, she turned to Sawyer, as if she'd just realized something. "I don't know if he did it... or if _I_ did."

He kept his eyes on the road, but his expression was tortured. "_He _did it," he said fiercely. "If he put the goddamn thing in his _mouth_, then I don't think you gotta feel bad about anything after that point."

She didn't say anything, and it was obvious that she wasn't convinced.

He turned off onto a dirt track that ran through the woods. It was barely even a road... instead, it appeared to be some kind of rarely-used hunting trail. The truck bounced and jerked along for a few minutes, then he slowed down, inching toward a precipice. Kate couldn't see what was over the drop. In the truck's headlights, there was nothing but enveloping blackness.

Sawyer finally cut the ignition. The rattling of the motor died away as silence descended upon them, and the only light available came from the moon. He turned toward Kate.

"Look at me," he said. She faced him, reluctantly. "None of this has anything to do with you... And I don't want you to _ever _make the mistake of thinkin' that it does. This happened because of me... _only _because of me. You understand that?"

She looked pained. "Sawyer..."

"Answer me!"

She continued to stare at him for a second, but then gave in. "Yeah. I understand."

"Then say it," he told her, his intense gaze burning into her. "I want to hear you say that it's not your fault."

She brushed away a tear, looking back through the rear window at the lump underneath the black tarp.

"_Say it_," he insisted.

"It's not my fault," she whispered, and then swallowed hard, closing her eyes. More tears fell. "_It's not my fault."_

"And you better not ever forget that," he said, his voice strangled. "No matter what happens, don't you _ever _forget that."

He opened his door and climbed out. Trying to pull herself together, Kate followed.

Sawyer lowered the tailgate, and together, they pulled the tarp to the edge and lifted the covered body to the ground. Kate couldn't help but notice the irony that _now_, of all times, they were finally cooperating at something.

"Where are we?" she asked.

He gestured over his shoulder, toward the edge of the precipice. "Drops straight down to the lake, about a hundred feet, more or less."

She shuddered a little. "So much for this one not having any dead bodies in it."

Sawyer almost smiled, a grim expression on his face. "Was only a matter of time, with us around."

They looked at each other, horrified that they could make jokes now, but fighting the maniacal urge to laugh, all the same.

Sawyer stood up quickly to distract himself. "Start lookin' around for some rocks.. the heavier, the better."

She followed his directions, blindly, not asking why or allowing herself to think about it.

When there were enough piled up, the mystery was solved, as she'd feared it would be. "We need to put 'em in his pockets.. in his clothes, inside the tarp... wherever they'll stay."

He started to work, and she watched him, frozen. He glanced back up at her.

"Sawyer. I don't... I can't do this." She shook her head, in horror. "I don't think I can do this."

"Then get back in the truck," he said impatiently. He watched her, waiting for her to make a decision, knowing they didn't have any time to spare.

Taking a deep breath, she let herself fall to her knees at the side of the body. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she picked up a rock.

They worked together, silently, until the pile was gone. Sawyer retrieved a rope from the bed of the truck and secured it tightly around the tarp, looping it over and over from one end to the other. When he was finished, they dragged it the few remaining feet to the edge of the drop-off, straining and using all their strength to move the now weighted-down body.

"Careful," Sawyer warned her. "Don't get too close to the edge."

They circled back to the other side of the tarp. It was now just a foot away from the drop, where a good shove would be enough to send it over.

Kate stared down at it, torn. "Should we say something?"

Sawyer looked at her like she was crazy. "The guy showed up to murder us and then blew his brains out in our living room... I don't think he was expectin' us to deliver a eulogy, sweetheart."

She sighed, distressed.

Reaching down, she rested her hand on the body. "I'm so sorry," she whispered simply.

Sawyer waited a few seconds, respectfully, and then said, "Push."

They put all their weight into it, and the body rolled nearer to the edge, and then, sickeningly, disappeared over the drop. It hit the dirt embankment in a few places on the way down, and then they both heard the dull, heavy splash as it sank under the surface of the lake.

They stood up, looking out over the moonlit water.

"Come on," Sawyer finally said, sounding exhausted. He took her arm. "Let's get home."

Kate allowed him to drag her away from the edge and lead her back to the truck.

* * *

They didn't speak on the short ride home. What was there to say? They were each trapped in their own personal hell, unable, for the moment, to share it with one another.

When they pulled back around to the shed again, Kate was the first one out of the truck. After she slammed her door shut, she headed around the back to the other side, when a sudden movement from over behind the shed stopped her in her tracks. Three boys emerged from the shadows. Upon seeing her, they, too, halted in shock. The older two, who looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, were dressed up as football players, or rather, _dead _football players. They wore jerseys and shoulder pads, but their faces were covered with green makeup and plastered-on wounds and scars. The younger boy, probably not more than ten, was wearing a Spiderman costume without the mask, which dangled limply from his hand.

Sawyer had gotten out and was heading toward the house, not having noticed the kids. Kate watched them, accepting the situation, almost calmly, as just one more aspect of the distorted surreality of this night. As the kids stared at her, one of the older boys seemed to become aware of something, and, with a disturbed look, he nudged his companion, giving him a meaningful glance, and then turned back toward Kate, taking a step away. She was still incapable of movement or speech. This all seemed to be happening underwater.

Finally, realizing that Kate wasn't following, Sawyer looked back, wondering what was taking her so long. He now noticed the kids for the first time, and he strode back towards the truck, alarmed and pissed.

"What do you think you're doin' here? This is private property!"

"We were trick-or-treatin'," one of the older boys said innocently, closing his paper bag tighter in order to hide the rolls of toilet paper inside.

"Like hell you were," Sawyer answered. "It's past midnight."

The two oldest looked at each other, trying to think of another line of defense. Kate's attention, however, was riveted by the youngest boy, who hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she'd stepped from the truck. Although he was pale and had curly red hair, he reminded her, strikingly, of Walt. His eyes were deep pools of inscrutability, and he looked more wise and knowing than a child had any right to. She felt chills travel outward from her spine as she stared at him.

"What's your costume?" he asked quietly.

Feeling dazed, as if she was in a waking dream, she murmured, "I'm a gypsy."

He didn't break their gaze for a second, his eyes remaining fixed unblinkingly on hers. "Can you see the future?" he asked with deadly seriousness.

Kate shook her head slowly, feeling incapable of breaking the eerie spell this kid was casting on her.

He watched her sadly, almost pityingly. "I can," he whispered.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard, feeling like she was about to fall over.

"Aaron, shut up!" one of the older boys hissed, sharply. "He's my little brother... he's kinda weird," he explained nervously to Kate. "He doesn't usually talk... and he goes to a special school and everything."

"You better get the hell out of here, now, or you're all gonna be goin' to a _special school_!" Sawyer shouted, moving toward them threateningly.

They backed up and dodged away from him, heading up the driveway. The older one who had just spoken grabbed his brother's arm, but the little boy pulled away and ran back to Kate. He tugged on her costume and gestured for her to bend down. She did, still feeling like this was some kind of hallucination, and he whispered something into her ear. Then, he quickly ran back to his brother, who thumped him harshly on the back, muttering with anger, "_Retard_!" The three of them took off toward the road, the two older ones laughing and shoving one another playfully, pretending that they hadn't been scared.

Kate watched them go. Sawyer touched her on the arm, and she jumped slightly.

"What was that about?" She turned toward him, blankly.

"What did he _say_?" he rephrased his question.

"He said..." She paused, confused. "He said, _Pick the one with all the birds_. At least that's what it sounded like."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

She shook her head, slowly. "I have no idea," she whispered.

"Crazy little bastard..." Sawyer said under his breath, lethally. "I _hate _kids."

Kate looked down at the ground. "Come on," she said. "Let's go back in."

* * *

Once they were back inside, Kate went immediately to work, filling a bucket with soap and water and grabbing as many rags as she could find. Sawyer went to get some wood to build a fire, in order to take the oppressive chill out of the house.

Kate knelt on her hands and knees in the floor of the living room, scrubbing away the blood. She considered changing out of her costume, but there was no point in destroying another set of clothing. This would already have to be thrown out. She was just thankful that the fabric was dark enough to hide the blood that she knew must be spattered all over her.

After a while, she caught a faint whiff of smoke and heard the first cracklings of the fire. When, after a few moments, Sawyer still hadn't rejoined her, she glanced over, wondering what was keeping him. He was staring into the flames as if hypnotized. She couldn't remember ever seeing so much pain on his face before. Settling back on her legs, she brushed the loose hair out of her face and watched him, miserably.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. Pulling herself to her feet, she walked over to his side and stood next to him, looking into the fire.

He seemed to have been waiting for her. Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled something out. She could only see it out of the corner of her eye, but she had no doubt about what it was.

Pulling the creased, softened paper out of the envelope, he unfolded it for probably the thousandth time, his hands shaking very slightly. Kate waited, silently and without moving, while he read it again to himself, his eyes scanning over the paper with the easy familiarity of someone looking at the features of a face they'd known since childhood.

He folded it once more and replaced it in the envelope. Kate turned toward him, meeting his eyes. Looking weary and vulnerable, he held it out towards her. She looked at it, and then shook her head, with reluctance. Fighting tears, she told him, "You have to do it yourself." It was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to say, but it was the truth. She couldn't do this for him.

Although he was disappointed in her response, he'd clearly expected it, and he seemed to know that there was no other way.

Kate watched his face closely. This was what she'd wanted, what she'd asked him for, that night on the porch... to stop looking, to let go, to give it up. He hadn't been able to give her a promise then, but the events of tonight had made the decision for him. Everything had come catastrophically full-circle. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was the end of the road for his lifelong search for the man who'd destroyed his life.

Clenching his teeth together and breathing hard, he crumpled the letter tightly in his palm and, with a quick, unhesitating motion, tossed it onto the top of the logs. It caught the flame immediately, the fire flaring up brighter for a few seconds until the paper was reduced to ashy slivers.

Without taking her eyes from the blaze, Kate reached out and caught Sawyer's hand, tightly. The two of them continued to stare into the fire at the spot where the letter had been, long after there was anything left of it.


	37. Chapter 37

Sorry for the longer wait in-between updates, guys! I had to go to a conference thingy on Thursday, so I didn't get my two chapters a week in. There'll be another update on Thursday, then there might be another week-long gap when Lost-Forum goes down for maintenance. Just to warn y'all. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

Sawyer lifted the last shovelful of dirt and dropped it onto the newly turned-over rectangle of bare earth. He patted it down and then stopped, looking up. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and a faint, golden tinge touched the clouds in the east. In another half hour or so, the sun would make its appearance over the top of the mountain. He dreaded that moment, more than anything else. When it happened, this would all be real.

Bathed in the clear, unalloyed light of morning, the remnants of last night would appear even more distorted and nightmarish. The body at the bottom of the lake, the eerie kid's cryptic warning, the small, pitiful grave in the yard... These all seemed to be things that should remain firmly rooted where they belonged, on Halloween. But they wouldn't, Sawyer knew. They were going to follow him and Kate, right into this beautiful, peaceful morning, right into placid November, a month better represented by pilgrims and turkeys than by bodies and graves.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kate, half carrying and half pushing a small boulder toward him. It was much too heavy for her, and he knew he should help, but he couldn't seem to make himself move.

Finally, she dropped the stone onto the grave, and sank down, out of breath. He glanced at her, thinking that it was funny how she always looked more comfortable on the ground or the floor than she did in a chair. He was relieved that she'd finally changed out of the damn costume, into jeans and a close-fitting dark red sweater. Although neither one of them had slept, they'd at least managed to clean up a little before they'd come out here for the last portion of their grisly task. But for God's sake, did she have to wear _red_? The sight of it unnerved him, especially after seeing her covered in blood all night. He was willing to bet that, in her exhaustion, she'd picked the first shirt her hand had touched, not even noticing what color it was. Either that, or she was ironic on a level he'd never even imagined.

She was running her fingers slowly through the loosened dirt, picking up handfuls and letting it trickle back onto the ground. He remembered seeing her do the same thing with sand once, while she stared out at the waves. Her eyes now were even sadder than they'd been then.

After a few seconds, she said softly, "I feel like there should be more to this. It didn't take very long."

"It's just a damn dog." He looked off toward the east again, not meeting her eyes.

"Sawyer." Her voice was reproachful, hurt.

"It was a stupid idea to begin with," he muttered bitterly. "Never shoulda brought him here."

Lowering his eyes down to his feet, he kicked away some leaves, distractedly. Kate had chosen this spot, underneath the maple tree she'd admired weeks ago from the window for its brilliant color. The color was almost gone now, the fiery orange faded into a dead, withered brown. The leaves had fallen, forming a thick carpet under their feet. He thought, insanely, that it would be fun to pile them up, jump into them. If they were different people.

"It wasn't a stupid idea," Kate said, standing up. He could feel her eyes on him, and he finally caved, turning toward her.

She was looking at him intently. Her features were imprinted with a combination of pain, guilt, fear, and concern for him. He noticed for the first time that at the corners of her eyes were traced faint, delicate lines of sorrow. Others might have mistaken them for laugh lines, but he knew better. There was also a kind of strength in her expression that terrified him, because he knew if he looked at her long enough he would shatter, would collapse into it.

She was so close that he could feel the warmth from her skin. The desire to touch her, to lean into her, to rest his head against her shoulder was so strong in him that he refused to allow himself to do it, almost by instinct. Backing away as if she posed a danger, he diverted his gaze toward the house.

"Got some errands to run...You should try to get some sleep. I'll be back later," he said shortly.

Heading toward the truck, he left her standing there by the side of their first shared grave, her eyes following him sadly.

* * *

Kate tried to stay awake as long as possible, waiting for him to return. She had no idea where he'd gone. He couldn't have stopped for groceries, because she hadn't made a list, and when he was winging it, he never took this long. What kind of _errands _had he been talking about? Something dangerous? She tried to tell herself that it really wasn't any of her business - that he was a grown man who had no obligation to inform her of how he spent every second of his time, and that she couldn't expect him to change his former habits so completely in just a matter of months.

But still, she couldn't help feeling that it was unfair. He knew she had no way to contact him, no way to leave the house... He must have realized that she would do nothing but sit here and worry. Or _had _he? She knew how much pain he was in right now, the torment that was overwhelming him. Maybe he didn't even know what he was doing, or how long he'd been gone. She just wished he would come back.

With exhaustion from the stress of last night and the lack of sleep dragging her down, she finally gave up the fight. If she slept now, she could skip right over those extra hours of anxiety. When she woke up, he would almost certainly be back. If he wasn't... She stopped her thoughts before they could wander too far along that train of possibility. She had absolutely no idea what she would do. It was best not to dwell on it.

She stretched out on top of the covers, because somehow that made it feel more temporary, less like going to bed. It was almost 2:00 p.m. When she closed her eyes, a dizzying kaleidoscope of scenes from last night rushed at her, flickering across her inner vision like some kind of demented silent movie. She almost got up again to wait, wanting to at least have Sawyer there beside her when these hellish vignettes came at her again. But her body was heavy, sluggish. As she tried to make up her mind, she fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, the room was dark. She was surprised, because it felt like no time had passed at all. Turning her stiff neck towards the digital clock on Sawyer's nightstand, she saw that it read 3:47. At first, she thought it must mean p.m., and that she had slept a few hours into the afternoon. But the blackness in the room was complete. She looked toward the window in confusion, and then realized, with shock, that it was 3:47 _in the morning_. She had slept for nearly fourteen hours.

Although she already suspected the truth, she still felt around with her hands on the other side of the bed to confirm that Sawyer wasn't there. She willed her pulse to remain under control, telling herself that it didn't mean anything. Forcing herself to make calm, slow movements, she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, waiting a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. The house was silent.

Folding the blanket over to the side, she lowered her feet to the floor and located her shoes, pulling them on with deliberate patience, keeping her mind blank.

She stood up and took a few steps toward the door, but there was something bothering her, some detail tugging at her attention, nagging at her to look back. She glanced at the bed again, quizzically, and then, at the instant of realizing what it was that she'd been trying to remember, she walked back over and sat down heavily on the edge in the immensity of her relief.

She'd gone to sleep on top of the covers. She'd awakened underneath a blanket.

Pulling the quilt that he must have taken from the hall closet into her arms, she held it close to her, and then, after a few seconds, lowered it to the bed and headed back to the door again.

She checked the kitchen first, but he wasn't there. What _was _there, however, made her pause and then move further into the room with growing dread.

Arranged almost artfully on the kitchen table were at least fifteen bottles of various kinds of alcohol, of different shapes, sizes, colors, and brands. There was the ubiquitous whiskey, of course, in several varieties. There was also vodka, gin, tequila, brandy, sherry, wine, even _rum_. She picked up this last bottle, wondering grimly if it had been inspired by his pirate costume.

It looked, bizarrely enough, like he was planning for a _party_. A bowl of chex mix and a pile of napkins would have completed the illusion perfectly. The thing that disturbed her so deeply was not the fact that he'd bought this much alcohol to begin with (although that was disturbing enough in its own right), but the fact that he'd displayed it all here on the table, apparently unconcerned whether she saw it or not, oblivious to what she would think of it. It was like the sight of it all there, in one place, must have given him a comfort so profound that her opinion meant nothing when compared to it.

Despite feeling terrible for him, she experienced a faint twinge of anger at the thought. After everything they'd been through, _this _was how he was going to deal with the tragedy? Maybe she'd been wrong to think that the burning of the letter signaled the end of something. Maybe, instead, it was the beginning of something even worse.

She turned and headed toward the living room, not knowing what to expect. She was almost relieved to find that he was just passed out on the couch, another bottle of Jack Daniels, this one half empty, on the floor next to him. There was another, smaller, vial there beside it, and she moved toward it, alarmed. Lifting it, she saw that it was the prescription Jack had written for her - the painkillers she'd hardly needed, after the first night. She quickly tried to estimate how many she'd taken herself, and how many should still be left. More than were currently in the bottle, that much was obvious.

Glancing at Sawyer again, she watched him breathe, holding her own breath to better detect the slow rising and falling of his chest. He seemed to be sleeping fine, but what if he was slipping into a coma? Her rational mind told her that he hadn't taken nearly enough pills to do serious damage, but her nerves were already shot. Leaning over him, she lightly patted his chest, and then gradually increased her pressure, thumping on him.

"Sawyer! Wake up!"

He jerked abruptly and a grimace of annoyance appeared on his face. Shoving her hands away, he turned toward the back of the couch and mumbled angrily, "Would you get the hell outta here and let me sleep?"

She was stung by his words, but grateful for them at the same time since they made sense and were spoken with relative clarity.

Stepping away from the couch, she watched him closely for a few more seconds, and then went back into the kitchen with a gritty determination. Carrying the bottles two at a time over to the sink, she dumped the contents of every single one of them down the drain.

* * *

When he finally shuffled into the kitchen, still grasping the half-empty whiskey bottle, it was close to 8:00 a.m. Kate was sitting at the cleared table, drinking coffee. She set the cup down cautiously and followed him with her eyes. First he glanced at the table, the fact of the missing bottles only dawning on him gradually. He scanned the room, squinting in confusion. It looked like he was in pain, probably from the last of the alcohol wearing off.

His surprised gaze came to rest on the sink, where Kate had piled the empty bottles. She'd considered tossing them in the garbage, or even bagging them and taking them outside, but for some reason, she wanted him to see them.

Dragging himself over to them, he lifted one out, holding it up to examine it, noticing with shock that it was empty. He tried another one, and then another. Finally, he turned toward Kate, whom he'd pretended not to be aware of until now.

"What the hell _happened _here!" he demanded loudly, a bewildered expression on his face.

"It's gone. I poured it out," she said in a quiet tone, staring at him levelly.

For a second he was so stunned that he had no response. It took a bit for him to find his voice. "You did _what_? I think my ears must be playin' tricks on me, Freckles, because for a second there I coulda sworn I heard you say that you _poured out _all my alcohol!"

She didn't answer.

The look on his face was so mystified and disoriented that if the situation had been less serious, she might have laughed. He continued. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? You got some kind of death wish, sweetheart?"

"Actually, I think that would be _you_," she said bitterly, unable to help herself. "Unless you have some kind of doctor-recommended reason for taking painkillers with whiskey, which I highly doubt."

Again, he was at a loss, unable to respond immediately to her words. He finally muttered, "_Unbelievable_," looking around the room as if to gain support from an invisible audience.

Casting one last lethal glance at her, he headed for the door with the Jack Daniels still clenched in his fingers, stopping to search for his keys on the peg near the window. They weren't there. He patted his pockets, and she could tell he was thinking. Even through the haze of a hangover, he knew he hadn't left them in the truck. He _never _did that.

Kate stood up from the table, slowly. "You won't find them."

He turned to face her. They stared at each other confrontationally, Sawyer looking dangerously pissed. "Where are they?" he asked in a carefully restrained voice.

When she ignored him, he took a step closer to her, threateningly. She looked down at the floor, but she refused to move back, even an inch.

"What the hell did you do with 'em, Kate?" His voice was low with barely-controlled rage. "Tell me where they're at, _now_."

"No," she said in a hoarse, broken whisper.

"_I'm not gonna ask you again_." He found himself once more having to restrain his hands from reaching out for her, but the impulse this time came from an entirely different source.

When she finally raised her eyes back up to his, she was fighting tears. "Sawyer," she said gently.

Turning away quickly from that look, he glanced wildly around the room, and then, with a violent, impulsive gesture, hurled the whiskey bottle toward the sink with all his force. It hit the edge of the counter and shattered with a terrible noise, the pieces ricocheting across the cabinet and floor. Kate closed her eyes tightly.

Stepping onto the porch, Sawyer slammed the door behind him with a deafening bang. Kate finally opened her eyes and watched through the window as he headed down the porch steps. After he'd disappeared from view into the deep morning fog, she remained still for a few seconds. Then, drying her eyes on her sleeve, she went to get a broom.

* * *

Sawyer took another deep drag on his cigarette, trying to convince himself that it tasted good after all this time. He'd been so sure that it _would _that he could almost make himself believe it. The planks of the dock felt damp and cold underneath his jeans, and he could barely see anything through the thick, heavy fog that rested like a blanket over the lake and the valley.

Every few seconds, he reached for his pocket, almost by instinct. The lack of paper there was something he couldn't get used to. His hand ached for the letter with an almost physical pain. It was like being cut off from a drug, or losing a limb. He could still feel it there, even though it no longer existed.

He was also miserable and disgusted with himself, doing his best to keep his mind off of anything meaningful, especially the scene that had just taken place in the kitchen. These efforts were, for the most part, a failure. Probably this was the reason that her voice, at first, seemed to come from inside his own head, from his own conscience.

"You're smoking again, too?"

He avoided turning around, knowing he wouldn't be able to see her through the fog until she was just a few feet away.

"You got anything to say about it?" he asked in a tired, uninterested voice, as if he didn't have the energy to get pissed.

"No," she said quietly as she reached his side. She sounded tired too.

Feeling his stomach turn as he took another drag, he tossed the cigarette into the water with contempt. It fizzled out with a tiny hissing sound, and they both watched as it drifted away in the gently lapping waves.

"Brought you a jacket," Kate said, dropping a flannel shirt into his lap. She lowered herself onto the dock beside him.

After waiting a few seconds, she asked, "Aren't you gonna tell me that I shouldn't be out here?"

"At this point, you really think it makes a hell of a lot of difference?" he asked in a dull tone, still staring out at the water.

She turned toward him, and he could feel her disappointment. In a strangely bitter tone, she replied, almost laughing, "Probably not." She seemed to consider. "Then again, the weather seems to be on my side."

After a few seconds of thought, she went on, in a far-off, musing tone. "You know how, when you're a little kid, and you hear about heaven... how it's in the sky... you immediately think that people must live on clouds up there? I did, anyway," she said, when he didn't reply. "And I still remember the day my dad told me what fog was... that it's really just low-lying clouds, the exact same kind that you see in the sky. I was so disappointed, I almost cried. I mean, how could people live on _this_? It's not bouncy, or fluffy, or soft. It's just like..._ wet smoke_." She smiled sadly in memory, pausing for a second. "I never believed in heaven again after that."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Sawyer said wryly. "Not much chance we'd ever end up there, anyway."

She sighed, amused. "Good point."

In a slightly more serious voice, she asked, "Do you believe in it?"

"I don't believe in anything." His eyes were haunted, and he finally turned toward her. "All I know is that we both oughtta be in a prison cell. It ever occur to you that we don't deserve any of this?" His arm gestured out toward the lake, taking in the sweep of the scenery and the path back toward the house.

Kate looked at him, surprised. "_Deserve _it?" she asked sharply. "Of course we don't _deserve _it. We never have. What happened the other night doesn't change that." She thought for a second. "Is that what this is about? Is that why you were planning to drink yourself into oblivion? And here I thought it was because you felt bad for _their _sakes." She shook her head.

"You think I _don't_?" he asked, angry.

She looked away, apologetically. "That's not what I meant." She sighed.

"Do you want to turn yourself in, Sawyer? Is that what you want? You think we ought to go in together, like a _couples _thing? Who knows, maybe they'll give us a two-for-one deal."

"You're funny as hell, Freckles."

"I'm not trying to be funny," she said, bitterly. "You know, you told me something once that I'll never forget. You said, _that they would never be able to punish me any worse than I already do, myself_." She looked at him intently. "And you know what? You were right."

Sawyer was quiet. He hated it when people used his own words against him.

She looked out at the lake again. "So... I know it's selfish, and unfair, and that I don't deserve any of this. I probably don't deserve any happiness at all." Her voice threatened to break. "But this is the first time in my life I've ever had _anything _like this." Her tone became firm, almost angry. "And I will not give it up that easily...they'll have to take it from me by force. Because I will NOT give it up." She looked over at him. "And no matter what you say... no matter how guilty you feel... I don't think you will either."

"There's a body in this lake. That _we _put there," he said softly.

Kate drew in her breath at the mention of it. "Yeah, you're right. There is. But like you said the other night, _he did it himself_. I didn't kill him, and neither did you. _He _did it. And so did _she_, for that matter. You may have set it in motion, but they _both _made that final decision for themselves."

"You want to know a funny thing about her?" Sawyer asked flatly, as if he were just making casual conversation. "She used to talk about doin' it before she even had a reason to. It's one of the only things I remember about her... how she had this fascination with killin' herself. I just thought it was the kind of stupid shit that women say to impress you, make you think they're all... _exciting _and _dangerous_. No offense," he said, glancing at Kate. "You got the actual credentials. But who the hell woulda guessed that _she _was serious?"

Kate was looking at him, shocked. "Then..." she stopped. "Maybe she would have done it anyway. Maybe they _both _would have."

"That '_maybe' _sure is a convenient little word, ain't it?" he said sarcastically. "You can make reality do pretty much whatever you want by throwin' a few _maybes _in there. Hell, maybe the FBI'll let you off the hook next week, decide to offer you a job instead."

She almost smiled. "I wouldn't take it," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

She watched his face. "Being miserable won't bring them back, Sawyer. It makes no difference to them whether you torture yourself or not. All we can do is keep going, and not make the same mistakes again."

"And what do you think the chances of that are?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I can't say I'm upset that you'll be finding another line of work."

He shook his head in weary contempt.

She smiled slightly, then grew more serious. "I'm sorry about the alcohol," she said quietly. "But I'd do it again in a second." She paused. "Seeing all those bottles on the table like that... do you have any idea how much that scared me? Or when you didn't come home yesterday.. what that did to me? I've never felt that kind of fear before. And I _hate _it. I don't ever want to have to feel like that again."

It sounded like she was trying not to cry. He felt like someone was stabbing an ice pick into his heart, but her words scared him. It was the same fear he always felt regarding her. _He _knew she couldn't depend on him. So why couldn't _she _just accept it?

"What the hell did you expect?" he asked, carefully avoiding her eyes. "With everything you know about me, you really gonna tell me you're surprised?" Finally meeting her eyes, he forced himself to choke out the words that were the most difficult he could possibly say to her. "I can't take care of you," he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she held his gaze. "I never asked you to. But I'm not gonna lie, and say that I don't need you. Because I do." She swallowed hard. "I don't think I can go back to doing this on my own. Not now."

He looked down at the water, feeling his throat constrict with emotion. She reached out and rested her hand on his arm, the first substantial physical contact they'd had since he'd burned the letter.

"Hey," she whispered, forcing him to look up at her. "If we're both going to hell anyway, we might as well share a cab, right?" She smiled at him through her tears.

Giving up the fight he'd been waging with himself for days, he reached for her, pulling her to him as she leaned in at the same time, in the same motion. He kissed her, softly at first, delighting in the sheer texture of her skin against his lips, the salty taste of her tears, the delicate scent that was always with her, that was simply a part of her essence, independent of any kind of shampoo or soap. He would have recognized it instantly even if he'd been separated from her for fifty years.

He felt her pushing him back against the dock, and he gave in, laying down on the boards. To his surprise, although not to his disappointment, she began unfastening his jeans. He looked up at the murky, colorless fog, and time seemed to stop.

When he felt her body covering his, he closed his eyes, drifting into a state that was nearly dream-like. She moved in a graceful, rocking motion, and her hair fell in silky tassels over his face. He let her choose her own rhythm, only intervening at times to pull her face down closer to his, to feel his lips on hers again. At certain moments he seemed to forget where he was. With no notion of how much time had passed, he heard his own final, strangled gasp as if it came from a great distance, from somebody else. It seemed unconnected to himself.

When he became conscious of reality again, he found that her head was now tucked underneath his chin, her body still resting on top of his, warm and relaxed. He slowly opened his eyes and noticed a tiny patch of blue sky. The fog must be burning off. They should probably put their pants back on, he thought to himself with a grin. Just the act of thinking such a thing made him feel better, more like himself.

He put his arms more tightly around Kate, marveling as always at how small she was. Why had he told her he couldn't take care of her? he wondered. Of course he could. And he would prove it to her with his dying breath, if he had to. Everything felt different now.

She sighed contentedly and raised up, looking down at him. "Are you happy now?" she asked with a gleam in her eye. "We can cross the dock off the list."

"Nothin' like that sense of accomplishment, is there?" he replied, pulling her back down to kiss her again as she laughed.

She moved over to his side and slid her jeans back on, staring out at the water, where the closest mountain peaks were now starting to become visible in the thinning fog. He fastened the button on his jeans, but remained in a reclined position, watching her. With one hand he reached out and ran his fingers slowly up and down her back. Now that he'd finally allowed himself to touch her again, he didn't want to stop.

Kate sighed deeply, not turning around. She seemed to be trying to make up her mind. "Can I ask you something?" Her voice sounded nervous, tight with worry.

"Go for it," he said, curious but still relaxed.

"You think you'll be going back into town today?"

He was confused. "I don't know... Why? You got a list?"

"No. Not really. I just..." She stopped. "There's something I need you to get for me." She still didn't turn around.

"What? _Tampons_?" he asked, thinking he'd guessed it. Hell, what was she so embarrassed about? He'd bought 'em before, hadn't he?

"No," she said, sounding as if she were suppressing a smile. "That's not it. _Believe me_."

"What, then?" The suspense was killing him. What could possibly give her this much hesitation? Unless... it was something to do with sex, he thought. His mind flashed excitedly to the possibilities. But hadn't she said she wasn't _into _any of that stuff?

She sighed again, shakily. "I don't really know how to say this," she said, sounding deadly serious. So it probably wasn't sex-related, after all. He waited, tense.

She finally turned her head around, looking back down at him. There was a new kind of fear there, completely different from the fear he'd always seen in her eyes before, the kind he'd grown accustomed to. This was different.

In a soft, but clearly audible, voice, she spoke.

"I need you to get me a pregnancy test."

Slowly, he raised himself up from the dock.

The two of them looked at each other.


	38. Chapter 38

**Sandra**: You asked how long Kate had been staying with Sawyer... I didn't have a specific date for when she arrived, but I've been working under a timeline that places it sometime in early September, when it was still hot and summery. Currently, they're at the second of November. So, she's been there for about 2 months. (But since I've been writing this since mid-May, it feels like MUCH longer. Lol.)

I should repeat that there probably won't be any updates next week - I've got the chance to go on a little mini-vacation, and with Lost-forum down it seems like a good opportunity. The next (and last!) two updates will be on the 22nd and 25th of August, most likely...possibly a little sooner. Thank you so much for sticking with me this far! I hope the wind-down will be worth it, because I've only just started writing it, and it's already making me teary-eyed.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

Sawyer shut the engine off and grabbed the small bag, the one next to him on the seat. The back of the truck was filled with larger paper sacks, but he decided to leave them there for the time being. He still couldn't believe she'd made him shop for _groceries _after that announcement. How the hell was he supposed to pick out laundry detergent or choose between different brands of spaghetti sauce when there was a goddamn _pregnancy test _waiting out in the truck? Kate had reasoned that it would be silly to make two trips, and he'd still been too stunned and bewildered to argue with her. She had obviously been living with this growing knowledge for a few weeks now, but for him, it still echoed and reverberated like a giant clap of thunder in his mind.

His first instinct, not surprisingly, had been one of panic. It was like a switch had been flipped, and red, blinking warning lights had flashed on, signaling in giant letters, "RUN!" But once the initial shock had worn off, and he'd seen how scared and miserable and apologetic she looked, other impulses had taken over. They hadn't said much on the walk back to the house, but he'd kept his arm around her. Before he'd left, they'd given each other a silent, prolonged hug, like two drowning victims clinging to each other despite the fact that it will only make them sink faster.

But during the trip and on the way home, a funny thing had happened. The longer he had to adjust to the idea, the more he began to accept it as something natural, even _normal_. It was still terrifying as hell, and he of course wasn't allowing himself to picture anything concretely - there were no mental images, certainly no imaginings of the future. It was simply that the concept _itself _started to seem less foreign. The notion that something tangible would link them together... There was something oddly fitting in that, even though he was trying his best to keep his mind away from specifics. As he climbed out of the truck and walked into the house with the bag, he experienced a nervous anticipation that couldn't exactly be labeled dread.

It became immediately clear, however, that Kate was experiencing nothing _but _dread. She stood wiping the counter with a sponge, making one circle over and over again, and she didn't immediately glance up when he stepped through the door. Her expression was far-off and sad, and her eyes seemed to look through the counter top rather than at it. Her shoulders were tense and she let her hair hang down over her face, not even bothering to brush it back. She'd obviously been doing some thinking too. Only her thoughts seemed to have led her in a completely different direction.

Finally, she looked over, registering his presence. She offered a wan, unconvincing smile. He held up the bag, showing her. "This what you ordered?" The smile disappeared and she paused for a second, then stepped forward to take it. He watched her carefully as she pulled it out and examined the label.

Shaking her head slightly, she muttered, "You _had _to get the cheap kind, didn't you?"

Annoyed that she'd noticed, he asked, "What difference does it make?"

"It just... takes longer. We'll have to wait ten minutes. With the other kind, it's instantaneous." She looked up quickly, feeling bad. "It doesn't matter though... It's fine. I mean, what's ten more minutes, right? I think we can handle it."

She dug an egg timer out of a drawer near the refrigerator. He'd never seen it before in his life.

"You're gonna do it now?" he asked, suddenly wanting to put this off a little longer.

"Why wait?" she said, looking confused.

He didn't have an answer for that. They stared at each other for a few more seconds, then Kate whispered, "Come on."

As he followed her up the stairs, he asked, "How long have you known?"

"I don't _know _anything," she said sharply, glancing back at him.

"All right, _suspected _then," he revised himself.

She sighed, going into his bedroom instead of immediately into the bathroom. "I don't know... I've been avoiding thinking about it for so long, that I can't even remember when I started to worry. A few weeks, I guess."

"A few _weeks_?" he echoed, shocked. "Why the hell didn't you say anything?"

"_When_?" she asked, almost laughing. "When you were digging metal out of my arm with a kitchen knife? When Jack was sleeping in the next room? Or how about when we were dumping the body in the lake?"

"There were other chances," he said with scorn.

She waited a second, looking away. "I know," she said softly. "But like I said, I haven't really even admitted it to myself until today. You have no idea how good I am at denial. It's funny... out of all the problems I predicted us running into, this wasn't one of them. I never even _considered_..." She stopped. "We should have been more careful."

"How? I been spendin' a fortune on condoms, haven't I?"

"That's not good enough." She smiled a little. "Especially not when you do it five times a day. And quit looking so proud," she said in response to his expression, rolling her eyes.

He tried his best to keep a serious demeanor.

"At least I have birth control pills _now_... if it's not already too late, that is."

"From where?" he asked, confused.

She acted like she didn't want to say. "From Jack," she finally answered, not meeting his eyes. "He gave me some when he was here."

"He _what_!" Sawyer looked around in distress.

"He was trying to do something nice, Sawyer. He knew I wouldn't have any other way to get any," she explained patiently.

"That _son-of-a_..." he muttered, interrupting himself. "I know exactly what he was tryin' to do... he was just makin' sure you wouldn't get knocked up by _me_! Tryin' to make sure there's not any chance we might somehow _breed_."

Kate sighed heavily. "And this is exactly why I didn't tell you sooner."

He shook his head, disgusted. "_Unbelievable_." Looking over at her, he said, "You know, I coulda got you those pills if you'd wanted 'em. All you had to do was ask."

"How would you have managed that? It's not really the kind of thing you can buy on the black market, or scam somebody out of." She seemed to think this was funny.

"I woulda found a way," he said bitterly.

"Well, he must have assumed you hadn't already, or he wouldn't have written the prescription."

A sly gleam appeared in Sawyer's eyes, and his lips turned up at the corners slightly. "Hell, _assuming _didn't have nothin' to do with it, Freckles. He _knew _you didn't have any."

"What makes you think that?" she asked, not understanding. Then, looking worried, she demanded, "Did you _tell _him?"

His smile grew a little bigger, but he remained irritatingly secretive. "_I_ didn't him tell him anything... _you _did."

Kate was mystified. "What are you talking about?"

"Forget it," Sawyer said, looking away, knowing she wouldn't forget it.

"No! Tell me what you meant by that." She waited, her arms crossed in front of her, momentarily forgetting what they'd come up here to do.

"You wouldn't want to know, trust me."

"_Sawyer_," she said threateningly.

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn ya." He looked at her. "When you were driftin' off after the shots, you sent me after some condoms and told me that I never get enough, since apparently the supply just can't keep up with the demand." He gave her a roguish grin, cocking his head a little.

She stared at him in disbelief. "You're making that up," she said slowly, hopefully.

"'Fraid not, sweetheart," he replied, enjoying this too much. "You want to call him up and ask him?"

Kate sank down onto the edge of the bed, lowering her crimson face into her hands. "_Oh my God_..." she groaned.

Sawyer patted her lightly on the back. "Guess that kinda puts the Doc's little gift in a whole new light, don't it?"

Finally, she lowered her hands and gave him a grudging smile. "You feel better now?"

"Be lyin' if I said I didn't," he answered. But his expression was softer now, not as mischievous. She was beautiful when she blushed.

Looking thoughtfully down at the pregnancy test in her hands, she said, "I guess there's no point in putting this off any longer." She stood up. At the door she turned, looking back at him nervously. "Be right back."

He waited, staring at a chipped spot on the hardwood floor, wondering vaguely how much it would cost to have it refinished. A kid could get splinters from a floor like that. The fact that a thought of this nature could even enter his mind startled him so badly that he was about to go back downstairs, out in the yard to get some fresh air maybe, when Kate came back into the room.

"You remember to set the timer?" He couldn't think of anything else to say.

She shot him a look that he could interpret as _Yes, I remembered, you moron_.

"What do you think it'll be?" he asked, cautiously.

She almost laughed. "Why? You want to wager a little something, make it interesting?"

"I was just curious," he said, annoyed. "Thought you might have your suspicions, one way or the other."

"It'll probably be negative," she said, not sounding even remotely convinced. "It _has _to be. If it isn't..." she trailed off, miserably.

"Well, now, that'd just be the worst thing in the world, wouldn't it? If it _isn't_?" he asked, watching her carefully.

She turned toward him, surprised. "Of _course _it would be! Is there any doubt in your mind? I mean, even leaving aside for a second all our circumstances, we aren't ready for anything like this. Even if we were safe, and normal... I'm only twenty-six. I mean, in some ways I still feel too young for this. And _you_," she added, looking over at him. "You just said the other day that you hated kids." He glanced away, regretful. "And with the kind of temper you have? Children can be annoying, Sawyer. What are you gonna do if things get out of hand, throw a whiskey bottle at them?"

"I didn't throw it _at _you!" he said defensively. Then quieter, "You know I would never hurt you...or a _kid_."

"I know you don't _think _you would," she said sadly. "But I've seen how hard you have to struggle sometimes not to slap me...and you might not win that struggle every time. For myself, I don't care. I know where that anger comes from, and it doesn't scare me. But it would be different for a child."

He clenched his jaw in agony. For her to voice his own worst fears was almost more than he could handle. Did she have any idea how much it hurt him to hear her say that? He reached into his pocket and lit another cigarette out of spite, but then the thought occurred to him that if she _was _pregnant, he shouldn't smoke around her. Pissed, he stubbed it out and hurled the entire package angrily in the direction of the trash. Then, realizing his violent motions only proved her point, he got even more annoyed, feeling the need to lash back somehow.

"You can say all you want about me, darlin', but I know the real reason the idea scares the hell outta you so much." He looked at her pointedly. "It'd make all this just a little too _official_, wouldn't it? You'd be stuck with me for good then, wouldn't ya? No takin' off for greener pastures whenever you feel like it's time to move on." He smiled bitterly. "No matter what you say about how you don't _plan to go nowhere_, it'd be just a little bit different if you didn't have any _choice_, right?" He practically spat the last words at her.

She stared at him, almost as if she couldn't comprehend his meaning. "Have you lost your mind?" she practically whispered. "How is it possible for anybody to be so self-centered and so insecure at the same time? You would think that they'd cancel each other out. I can't believe you would even think something like that."

She looked around in wonder, shaking her head. "Why are we fighting? The fact is, all of this is beside the point. Because we both know why this could never work. I mean, look at us, Sawyer! Look at our lives! What kind of parents could we ever be? We can barely even take care of ourselves! We could have been killed the other night," she finished softly.

"But we weren't." His voice sounded flat, tired.

"But we _could have been_," she reiterated. "Easily. The fact that we're alive now is really just dumb luck. He came here to kill us. What if he hadn't changed his mind? Or what if there'd already been a baby upstairs?"

"I'm not a big fan of the _what-ifs_, Freckles. You're on your own with that one," he said, looking slightly sick. This wasn't what he wanted to be thinking about right now.

"You know what would have happened," she insisted. "For God's sake, Sawyer, we couldn't even keep a _dog _alive!" She appeared to be trying to hold back tears. "What makes you think we could do any better with a kid? What happens the next time some deranged husband tracks you down...or even somebody from _my _past? Do you want to walk in and find your _child _lying dead in the hallway?" She stopped, tortured. "Who's gonna dig _that _grave?"

"Just shut up," he said savagely, not wanting to hear any more.

"And even if we managed to keep one safe, what kind of life would any kid be able to have with _us _as parents?" she continued, ignoring him. "Always having to hide, or being on the run... You know as well as I do that it wouldn't work. It's hard enough for two people to manage it together... with a family, there's not a chance."

She stopped pacing for a second as a new idea occurred to her, twisting her features in torment. "Can you imagine what kind of mother I would make? How do you explain to a six-year-old that mom can't go to the dance recital, or the soccer match, because she's wanted by the FBI?" Kate brushed her hair back from her face distractedly, her hands shaking.

Sawyer watched her. Although he'd tried to hurt her with his words just a few minutes ago, he would now be more than willing to cut off his own arm if it would make her stop looking like that.

"Not to mention the pregnancy itself," she went on, every new angle making her more and more desperate. "How would that work? I can't go to a doctor.. we wouldn't have any clue whether things were okay or not. Who would deliver it?" She turned to him sharply. "And don't you _dare _suggest Jack."

"I didn't say anything," he replied sullenly.

"You'd love that, though, wouldn't you? Making him do that... for _us_. Well, you can forget it. I'd deliver it _myself_, before I'd ask that of him."

Sawyer sighed. "Would you sit down, please? You're actin' like a damn crack addict!"

She complied, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed with reluctance. After a few seconds, her face grew still and her hands settled down, resting in her lap. She looked at him, trying to empty herself of any emotion. In a quiet voice, she spoke. "If it's positive, you know what we'll have to do."

He swallowed, then said in a low tone, "You gonna expect me to try that one with a kitchen knife, too?"

She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth and trying not to cry. "You can find somebody... With the kind of people you know, there must be somebody who does it."

"Sure as hell hope you don't expect me to pay for it, then," he said, almost whispering. "Because I won't do it. Guess you'll just have to scrape together that money on your own somehow."

She looked straight at him, surprised and betrayed, but finally beginning to understand how strongly he felt about this. Somehow, that made it hurt even more.

In a trembling voice, she tried to keep up some semblance of rationality. "Then we would have to give it up. There's no other way. Can't you understand that? If I go to prison..." Her features crumpled dangerously, and she stopped, looking around the room and attempting to keep herself together. She took a deep breath and tried again. "If I go to prison, they would take it away.. they would _take it from me_. And even if you managed to avoid a sentence yourself, you still have a criminal record. Plus, you're aiding a fugitive. You think there's any way in hell you'd get custody? Why get attached to something you can't keep! I would prefer to never set eyes on it than to have it torn away from us."

Sawyer ran his fingers over his eyes and the bridge of his nose, miserably. Everything she said made sense, but in his gut, he rebelled against her words, instinctively.

"If we could find somewhere safe..." he began.

"There isn't anywhere safe!" she interrupted. "Not for me. You think I haven't tried? I've been all over the world, looking for someplace. I mean, if a desert island isn't safe enough, then what will be? And even if they lose our trail... even if I dye my hair, have reconstructive surgery...use a fake accent, a fake name... No matter _what_, I'll still be looking over my shoulder constantly. I'll never feel safe. If it's just me, I can pretend, sometimes. But not with a kid," she shook her head emphatically. "I wouldn't be able to fool myself, then."

He continued to stare at her. For the moment, he was out of arguments. She clearly had a response for anything he could possibly say. His eyes spoke volumes, though. She was forced to look away from him.

"Sawyer," she said softly. She gave up fighting against the tears. It was a battle she clearly couldn't win. "Do you think it doesn't break my heart, to know that I can never have that? That no matter how long I live, I will _never _be able to have a normal life, with a husband, and kids, and a house that I can actually _leave _sometimes? I try not to think about it, because it _kills _me. It kills me that... that I'll never change a diaper, or push a swing, or... or lift somebody up to put the angel on the Christmas tree." Her voice broke, and she lowered her face into her hands until she could trust herself not to lose it. Sawyer watched her, horrified, afraid to touch her, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of her words. If he comforted her, it would mean he was giving in to them.

She finally raised her head again, appearing a little calmer. In a sad, weary tone, she spoke. "You know, when I delivered Claire's baby... Even though I was so happy for her, so thrilled... I remember thinking to myself, _This is the closest you'll ever get. _And then later, when we brought him out to the beach, and everyone came to look...Even _you _had this look on your face, like... like it was the most amazing thing you'd ever seen. And for just a split second, I _hated her_." She looked at Sawyer, surprised at herself. "Can you believe that? It must have been the happiest moment of her life, and a tiny part of me _hated _her for it. What kind of person am I?" Her breath caught in her throat.

"Kate," he whispered, almost weak with the strain of listening to her pour out all this raw heartache. He was on the verge of pulling her into his arms, regardless of his need to hold out against her logic, when they both heard the timer ding.

She looked toward the door, not moving, as if the results would be magically wafted to them, without any further effort. After a few seconds, she stood up.

"You want me to look?" Sawyer offered, praying she would say no.

"That's okay." She smiled slightly. "You wouldn't read the directions, anyway."

Without glancing at him again, she left the room. He waited, not moving, feeling his heard thudding dully in his chest. Why was it taking so long? He finally stood up, but just as he did, he heard her coming back down the hall.

She paused in the door, holding the test. Her face was deathly pale. She took a deep, shaky breath, and let it all out before speaking.

"It's negative."

Then closing her eyes, she added, "Thank God."

His tensed muscles slowly began the process of relaxing themselves. All the possibilities he'd avoided contemplating evaporated into thin air. The house resumed its everyday feel, as if a guest whose expected presence had caused the rooms to take on an aura of brightness and anticipation had suddenly called to cancel, deflating the illusion, causing the day to creep forward in its sad, accustomed way.

"Congratulations." He sounded weary.

She looked at the floor, and he could virtually feel her drawing away, retreating into her shell, as she always did when she'd revealed too much of herself. Just because the barrier between them was invisible didn't make it any easier to cross.

He sighed. "I'm gonna go unload the rest of the stuff... get it in the freezer before it melts."

She nodded slightly, avoiding his eyes. Brushing past her, he left the room and headed downstairs.

Kate continued to stand there, immovable. She looked at the test again, checking for the twentieth time. It was still a minus sign - a small, inconsequential purple dash. Staring at it didn't make it any easier to comprehend. She'd been so _sure_. The certainty had been growing for so long, albeit subconsciously, that she had begun to accept it as a given without even allowing her conscious mind to grapple with it. The test had been a formality. She had already been positive of the truth, and her arguments had been meant to convince herself as much as Sawyer of the impossibility of allowing this to happen. How could she have been so wrong? It was like her own body had betrayed her.

When she heard Sawyer step out to the porch, she slowly, with deliberate calmness, shut the door of the bedroom, turning the handle all the way first so that it would close more quietly. As if in a daze, she crossed the few steps to the bed and gingerly crawled onto it, lying on her side and drawing her knees up toward her chest.

For a few seconds she remained completely still, almost frozen. Then, with almost no sound at all, she began to weep.


	39. Chapter 39

I'm sorry for the longer wait in-between chapters this time, everybody! The last chapter will probably be up on Thursday, and it will be accompanied by a special postscript section with just my thank-yous, plans, explanations, random thoughts, and so forth... So I won't waste your time with any of them today. On to the story!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

He wasn't really sure why he was avoiding her, but it was impossible to deny that he was. After he'd unloaded the rest of the groceries and put them away, he'd gone outdoors with the pretence that the leaves needed to be raked and burned. Although he'd never once bothered to do this before, and it had made no difference to him whether or not they rotted and decomposed where they fell, the idea of raking them had occurred to him today with the urgency of desperation, and he had latched onto the notion with grateful relief.

It wasn't only that he felt he needed distance from Kate. It was just that, after all the emotional upheavals of the morning, he was glad for some excuse for mindless, tedious physical labor. The house seemed stifling, and although he was mentally exhausted, his body craved a release in exercise. He worked inward toward the house, starting at the furthest border of the woods and making his way nearer and nearer to the porch on the east facade, purposefully avoiding the side where his bedroom was, where he assumed Kate remained. He hoped she was sleeping, but he had his doubts. In order to avoid thinking about it, or about anything else, for that matter, he raked with a violent fury, tearing up grass and rocks along with the leaves, forcing them all into growing piles that he intended to set ablaze.

When he finally reached the point where he was ready for fire, he noticed, to his amazement, that it was early evening, and the sun was already going down. He'd lost track of time. In a certain sense, he'd lost track of _more _than just time. It now occurred to him that he hadn't seen or heard anything from Kate since he'd left her holding the pregnancy test in the early afternoon. The realization made him feel guilty as well as a little worried. It was unusual for her to isolate herself for such a long period of time, even when they weren't on the best of terms (which was often.) Letting the rake fall to the ground with a dull metallic thud, he walked toward the house, trying to keep a slow pace.

The kitchen was silent and dim, with no lights on and no sign of any food preparation in evidence.

"Kate?" he called out sharply. And then, because he couldn't think of anything else, "I could use some help out here, you know!" His voice echoed hollowly through the rooms. There was no response.

_She must be in the shower,_ he thought with deliberate casualness. He climbed the stairs heavily and checked the bathroom, although he knew, before he even reached the top, that there was no one in there.

"What'd you do, go back to bed?" he asked loudly, moving toward his bedroom and praying that she would be in bed.

She wasn't.

But the west window was open, the drapes carelessly pulled all the way back, drifting in and out of the wide-open space in the slight breeze. A chill immediately descended upon him, effected by more than just the cold air circulating through the room.

He stood still for a second, taking in the unfamiliar sight of the open window, allowing himself a flood of sensations unrelated to any kind of rational thought. Then, taking a few steps toward it, he leaned out with both hands on the sill, forcing himself, despite the sickening protest in his gut, to look down. His eyes scanned the ground below, detecting nothing out of the ordinary, but relentlessly double and triple-checking every inch of space.

"I'm up here."

Her voice came from what seemed like just a few feet away, sounding almost amused. He swung his head around in confusion. She was sitting, with apparent ease and nonchalance, on the peak of the roof, leaning back comfortably against the chimney. "Did you think I jumped?" she asked wryly.

He let his breath out in irritated relief, shaking his head. "Hell of a joke, Freckles."

She looked away, out into the distance, with a slight smile.

"What do you think you're doin' up there?"

"I'm watching the sunset," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to watch the sunset from the top of a roof. "You should see it from up here... it's amazing."

"I've seen sunsets before," he replied, still annoyed.

"Not this one," she said, with a slight raising of her eyebrows.

"You're like a goddamn monkey, you know that? You remember what happened the last time you went climbin' around on shit... how well _that _turned out?"

She rolled her eyes, but didn't answer.

After a minute, she said coaxingly, "You're missing the best part."

"Forget it."

She looked down at him with exaggerated sympathy. "Oh... I didn't realize you were afraid of heights."

"Afraid..." he stuttered indignantly, "You think I'm afraid of heights? Just because I don't have some hidden desire to be a circus performer, like you apparently do?"

"It's okay," she said supportively. "It's a really common phobia. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."

He narrowed his eyes at her with contempt, easily detecting the mockery in her tone. He considered for a few seconds, and then, slowly, muttering angrily under his breath, he lowered himself out onto the shingles that sloped down from the window. A primitive kindergarten impulse had kicked in. No _girl _was going to call him afraid.

"Careful," she warned. "Make sure you keep both your hands on the surface for balance."

"I _know that_," he said scornfully. He slowly inched his way up the incline and then moved over to the other section where she was sitting.

"Scoot up," he ordered her, his teeth gritted in anxiety. She complied, and he eased himself into the vacated spot against the chimney, grateful for something solid behind his back. Grasping her at the waist, he pulled her back against him, then latched his arms around her midsection. He breathed out, resting his head against the bricks, not willing to look down quite yet.

They were both silent while he got his bearings. He was also trying to figure out how to begin this conversation. The fact that she was up here told him more about her state of mind than she probably thought it did. For one thing, he knew with instinctive certainty that if the results of that test had been different, she never would have risked something like this. It was both a celebration and a mourning at the same time. He didn't know which of the two made him sadder.

He wanted to apologize for the way he'd left her, for the lack of support he'd shown throughout the entire ordeal. He thought he owed her that, at least. But he couldn't seem to form the words. Instead, he was forced to settle for something more neutral.

"You all right?" He spoke quietly, thankful that they were both facing the same direction so that she couldn't see his face.

She waited a few seconds before answering, almost as if she was trying to decide. "Yeah," she finally said. "I think so. How about you?"

"I just spent five hours raking up about a decade's worth of leaves. So you be the judge."

"Raking," she said, nodding slightly. "I _thought _I heard something weird. I was afraid to look."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Well, at least it wasn't _life-threatening_."

She smiled. "Haven't you ever been up here before?"

"Once," he said, after considering. "I musta been about six. Never tried it again after that."

"How come?"

"Because," he explained, with a smile in his voice. "My grandma was waitin' for me with a hickory switch by the time I got back down. Hey, there's an idea," he said slyly. "Maybe _that's _what I oughtta try with you."

Kate laughed. "Yeah... If you want to end up in a wheelchair."

Grinning, he leaned down and brushed his lips lightly against her neck, glad that he could at least still make her laugh, if he could do nothing else.

She kept her eyes fixed on the far horizon, watching for the muted, subtle gradations of color as the sky shifted from daylight to dusk. The brilliant orange of a few moments ago had transformed itself into a bright, almost gaudy pink, tinged a deeper rose that faded into violet and then blue towards the east. It caused the few remaining brown and scarlet autumn leaves to stand out with even greater distinction against the dark, unchanging green of the spruces and pines.

"I'm sorry," Kate said softly, without turning her head.

"What are you sorry for?" He sounded tired again.

"For what happened earlier. For what I said. But that doesn't mean anything is different," she hastened to add. "You know that everything I said was true."

He was silent.

She angled her head back toward him. "Sawyer? You _do _know that, right?" She sounded almost pleading, as if she needed him to confirm it for her.

He finally spoke, with words that weren't anything like what she had expected to hear.

"I ever tell you I got a girl knocked up in high school?"

"_What_?" she asked incredulously, turning her body so that she could see his face. She'd hoped it was a joke, but his expression clearly ruled that out.

"Barely even knew her," he went on, not meeting her eyes. "She was just some rich girl tryin' to piss off her parents by hangin' around with the bad boy. And you know me... I was happy to oblige," he said bitterly.

Kate waited, not knowing what to say.

"So when mommy and daddy found out, they sent her off somewhere to have it taken care of. When she came back a few weeks later, she wasn't pregnant anymore. Never spoke to her again... and she never came near me. It was right before I dropped out," he added.

"Oh my God, Sawyer," Kate said slowly, in a tone of concern.

"Don't waste your pity," he said, a little harshly. "It wasn't no soap opera.. It was just two stupid kids who made a mistake and were lucky that someone was rich enough to fix it."

He paused for a second, and then went on, in a calmer voice. "Can't remember the damn girl's name... I wouldn't even be able to tell you if she was a blonde or a brunette. Hell, she might have been a redhead, for all I know. But you want to know what's funny about the whole thing? I think about _the kid _sometimes. Or what _would _have been the kid. Never even existed, and that's the part I still think about." He laughed silently, derisively. "Bet you never thought you'd hear _that _from me. Pretty pathetic, right?"

Kate closed her eyes against a wave of emotion that nearly made her dizzy. "No," she whispered, placing her hand on his where it pressed against her stomach. "It isn't."

He could hear the understanding and empathy in her voice, and he wished he hadn't told her. It wasn't something he'd ever planned to share with anybody, and now there was no taking it back. It would go into the slowly growing mental file she kept on his life, causing the impression she had of him to shuffle and reassort itself to incorporate the new detail, the same way everything he learned about her blurred or clarified what he already thought he knew. He supposed that it was the same with anybody you encountered in life, but the simple process of letting someone get to know him had never _meant _so much before. It made him nervous that he couldn't seem to censor his words the way he had with other women. The longer he was around Kate, the more he wanted to talk about his past, and there was still a part of him that rebelled against this in terror.

He could tell she was trying to think of something to say, something related to the topic, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. Raising his eyes to take in the yard, he quickly sought a distraction.

"You see that pile of rocks out there, at the edge of the woods?" He made his voice even, almost light.

Kate kept her eyes on his face for a few seconds, not willing to make the transition quite so suddenly, but eventually giving in, for his sake. She turned in the direction he was gesturing and followed his gaze.

"Yeah. What is it?"

"It's what's left of the original well, from when the house was first built."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, interested in spite of herself. "The one your grandma threw herself down?"

"That's the one," he said with a half-smile. "After that, they filled it in... broke the stones up, just in case anybody ever got the urge to try it again."

"We must have walked by it twenty times on the way to the lake," she mused. "I never even noticed it before."

"It's hard to see at night." Sawyer paused, in thought. "Crazy woman... Only reason she did it was because my uncle messed up all her big plans for him."

"By getting married?" Kate asked, confused.

"She spent her whole life tryin' to get out of these mountains," he said quietly, looking toward the distant peaks with something like disdain. "Never made it. So, she decided that if _she _couldn't get out, at least her sons would. Trouble is, neither one of them had any desire to go anywhere. My dad ended up right back here at the house, and John and Meg were just a few towns over that way. When she gave up on _them_, I was her last resort. Always made me promise her I wouldn't stay here... and I didn't. Though I doubt she'd be too happy with the results," he finished in an ironic tone.

Kate kept her eyes fixed on the mountains too, longingly. She shook her head, as if something puzzled her. "It's funny how... some people spend their whole life trying to escape from a place without ever making it, and other people would give _anything_, just to be able to stay somewhere." She paused, and then went on with a bitter detachment. "Maybe nobody ever really gets what they want."

"I wouldn't say that," Sawyer said meaningfully, giving her an intent look.

She turned to meet his eyes and her expression softened. They stared at each other wordlessly, both feeling, as always, the invisible current of something like electricity that passed between them whenever their gazes locked. It was a kind of drug that couldn't be overindulged without the threat of falling into the abyss.

Kate looked away first, obviously with something on her mind. She took a deep breath and let it out, waiting before she began. "I've lived in so many different houses... More than I can count. And nothing has ever felt as much like home as this place does. But it's not just the _place_," she corrected herself, feeling a knot in her throat. "If anything..." She stopped, then started again. "If anything ever happens to me, I just... want you to know..."

"I don't want to hear it," he interrupted her, speaking quickly.

She shut her eyes briefly in annoyance. "Would you please let me finish?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because," he told her, "Whatever you're about to say, I don't want to listen to it." He paused, then added in a quieter voice, "Nothing's gonna happen to you."

"Sawyer." She looked away, then sighed. "We can't do that."

"Do what?"

She turned back to him. "We can't... live in that fairytale world, where everyone has a happy ending." Shaking her head, she whispered, "That's not our world. Why is it so terrible to be prepared?"

His face hardened against the logic of her words. "Some things there ain't no use _preparing _for," he said in a dark tone. "_And I don't want to hear it_," he repeated with emphasis.

She continued to watch him, trying to detect any weakness in his emotional facade, but he wasn't going to crack. "All right," she said, giving in. "You win. We won't talk about it."

He looked at her sullenly, now feeling a twinge of regret. Why did all their interactions have to be so fraught with psychological danger?

Pulling her closer, he kissed her as a way of thanking her for dropping the subject. Kate prudently broke away when it threatened to become too passionate, which was a good idea, since they were suspended on the peak of a roof nearly thirty feet off the ground, where excessive movement wouldn't be wise. This was one section of the property that would _not _be making it onto the checklist.

With her body still angled sideways to his, she formed her lips into an O and breathed out, watching as a faint white vapor rose in front of her and distilled itself into the air. "It's getting colder," she remarked. "You can see your breath."

He tried the same experiment, watching his own vapor fan upwards and disappear. "Makes me want a cigarette," he muttered.

"I think you've had enough for today," Kate said sardonically. Then something seemed to catch her eye in the opposite direction from which they'd been gazing. "Look at those clouds coming in... Looks like a storm system."

"Comin' from the southwest," Sawyer said.

Kate bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "Actually, that's the northeast," she said gently.

He was silent for a second, mentally calculating. He shot her an irritated look. "You just love those moments, don't you?"

"I really do," she nodded, unable to hold back the smile now. He rolled his eyes, but she could tell he wasn't truly annoyed.

To allow him to regain some dignity, she gave him a chance to pass on information that she didn't already have. "Does it ever snow this far south?" she asked.

"'Course it snows," he said, as if the answer were obvious. "Not _this _early in the year, though."

She looked out over the yard again, her eyes sweeping down toward the shed and the lake. "I'd love to see this place when it snows," she said softly.

"You will." He watched her face.

She didn't meet his eyes. Smiling sadly, she whispered, "Yeah."

After an interval, Sawyer sighed. "Have you had enough sunset for tonight? Think maybe we could get back inside?"

She glanced around at him. "Okay." But she still didn't move.

"You waitin' for a helicopter extraction?" he asked, trying to urge her on.

She seemed to shake herself out of a reverie. "For some reason, I just had this crazy wish that we could stay up here forever."

"Sorry to disappoint you, shortcake, but my ass is already sore." He gestured down toward the window. "Ladies first."

She cast one more amused smile in his direction as she expertly maneuvered down the steep pitch of the shingles. He watched tensely, holding his breath, until she ducked into the open window. Leaning out, she brushed her hair out of the way and looked back up at him. "You coming?"

He moved slightly and then stopped again, wishing she wasn't watching him. He'd climbed a damn cliff on the island, hadn't he? So why was this so nerve-racking?

"You want me to come back up and help you?" Kate called playfully.

Glaring at her, he turned around and inched down the roof with painful slowness, grateful when he was finally able to lower his legs over the windowsill. He stood up inside the room and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, feeling the blood course through his veins.

"Did that get your heart rate up?" she asked, her arms crossed in front of her, still enjoying this.

With a quick, unpredictable movement, he grabbed her and lifted her up against him. She locked her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, instinctively, surprised into silence for the moment.

"That ain't the only thing," he murmured against her ear, with a wicked arch to his eyebrows.

"Oh my God," she groaned, throwing back her head and laughing. "You're so disgusting."

She didn't put up much of a protest, however, as he carried her the few feet to the bed and dropped her onto it.

* * *

Sawyer was confused when he opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds to realize that, in the gray morning light, he was seeing his room from the wrong angle. They were both sleeping with their heads at the foot of the bed, and at first he couldn't recall why that was, until he felt the stiff unyieldingness of the Monopoly board underneath him, causing the events of last night to reassume their sequence in his mind.

They'd both been too exhausted to bother with cooking, so they'd scavenged the kitchen for whatever they could find, eating without really caring what anything tasted like. It had been a hell of a day, and Sawyer was all for turning in early before another emotional catastrophe could descend upon them, but Kate had slept for fourteen hours yesterday, and she had other plans. She'd attempted to wrangle him into another Monopoly game by using the argument that they still hadn't managed to finish one, and that she was determined to bankrupt his ass. When he didn't take her bait, she declared that she would simply play by herself, a decision he'd greeted with a sarcastic snort of derision. As she'd unfolded the game board onto the bed, they'd both noticed that one corner was chewed off, encircled by a row of tiny, suspicious canine teeth marks. The look of sadness on Kate's face had convinced him to join her, although not without some leftover annoyance. It was almost like she'd _planned _that.

But apparently she'd been more tired than she thought, because he didn't think they'd gotten very far into the game before they both must have passed out right on top of the board. _Damn it, _he thought. _I was winning, too_.

Dragging himself up from the bed, he peeled off a few real estate cards that had stuck to his arm. He stumbled toward the bathroom, glancing at the window, but then stopped and looked out with more attention. Rubbing his sleep-bleary eyes, he looked again, thinking that maybe his eyesight was getting worse. But the scene didn't change with increased focus.

_"I'll be damned_," be breathed.

Moving back over toward the bed, he nudged Kate's shoulder. "Hey."

She jerked defensively, as she always did when someone woke her up, and then looked pissed when she saw him. "What?" she muttered, closing her eyes again.

"C'mere and look at this."

Without opening her eyes, she stretched a little and breathed in deeply. "Mmm..."

Impatiently, he hooked his hand under her elbow and pulled her up.

"Sawyer," she protested, irritated. "What are you doing?"

She dragged her feet as he led her over to the window. Once there, however, her attitude changed, just as his had. As she raised her eyes to the glass, her body grew very still, and she gasped softly. They both stood looking out.

It wasn't exactly snow - or at least not the kind of thing most people thought of when they heard the word _snow_. It was more like a very heavy frost, or at most a light, powdery dusting of flakes, just enough to barely coat the surface of everything, making the entire scene - the grass, trees, and roof - glitter with hard-edged, crystal brilliance. The early rays of the sun, finally breaking through the cloud cover, made the shimmering light refract and mirror itself in a thousand different directions.

"It's beautiful," Kate whispered.

Sawyer now turned to watch her face. Her hair was messy and tangled, her eyes still puffy from sleep, but her cheeks were suffused with a delicate pink flush that seemed to radiate from beneath the skin, somehow. There was a dented impression just above her jaw on the right side, and he raised his fingers to it, experimentally.

She turned toward him with a questioning air.

"I think you slept on the battleship," he told her with an amused look.

She laughed, then looked over at the scattered remnants of the game spread out on the bed.

"I guess we're O for 3."

"We'll get it finished one of these days," he said.

Nodding slowly, her expression became more serious. She leaned against his chest, turning her head to gaze out the window again, feeling the way the heat from his body emanated through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

After a few seconds without moving, she said simply, "Thank you."

"What... you think _I_ did that?" He looked down at the frost.

"I meant.. Thank you for letting me stay here." She pulled back and looked up at him. "I can't remember if I ever told you that or not."

He swallowed, not sure what to say. "Yeah, well... you pretty much just invited yourself, Freckles. Not like I had any choice."

Smiling as if this was exactly what she'd expected him to say, she reached up and kissed him, leaving her hands at her sides so that only their lips touched.

"I think I'm gonna go take a shower," she told him as he opened his eyes again. "I didn't take one at all yesterday."

"Good idea... I'm pretty sure you're startin' to draw flies," he said teasingly.

"You really think any flies could survive in a house this cold?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

He made an exaggerated sound as if she'd deeply wounded him, causing her to laugh.

"I gotta get some more wood in, smart-ass."

"You know, you _could _just get the heater fixed," she hinted.

"Yeah, but the wood's free." He cocked his head and grinned at her as she rolled her eyes. "I got some out behind the shed ready to go, I just need to haul it around and split it."

Kate turned and started toward the door. "All right. After I get cleaned up, I'll come out and help you stack it."

She was in the hallway when something caused him to call her back.

"Hey!"

Putting her hand on the doorframe, she assumed a listening air. "Yeah?"

Sawyer looked at her intently for a few seconds, trying to decide what it was he wanted to tell her. Ducking his head boyishly, he raised his hand to the back of his neck in defeat.

"Forgot what I was gonna say," he muttered, almost shyly.

Kate smiled understandingly. "Well, try to think of it. You can tell me later."

He watched as she turned and headed down the hall again. The door closed and he heard the water start running.

* * *

He loaded the wood briskly onto the truck bed, as if it had no weight at all. He felt strangely invigorated, although he hadn't even bothered to brew coffee before he came out here. It was an energy that was all-natural, partly from the crisp, chill air of the early morning, but partly because of something else that wasn't even definable. Maybe it was simply an effect of the altered weather, but everything felt _new_, somehow. He was filled with plans for the winter, and his thoughts extended into the spring and following summer as well.

He _would _get the heater fixed, obviously. He'd only been messing with her - it would be essential for when the _really _cold weather came. There were other things, too. The dock needed to be replaced, maybe with a bigger one. The house itself badly needed a coat of paint. And he was also toying with the notion of putting up a fence around the perimeter of the entire property, for extra safety. They could even have a locked gate at the end of the driveway. He thought of all this with an edge of excitement as he took deep breaths of the cold air, billowy puffs rising from his lips as he worked.

When he'd gotten the un-split log sections onto the back of the truck, he hopped in the cab and started the engine, then edged slowly around the shed and over to the corner of the house near the kitchen. As he got out and slammed the door, his attention was distracted by movement off to the side, on the porch.

Standing by the front door, attempting to peer in the window, were two middle-aged men in dark suits.

Sawyer froze, all the muscles in his body immediately becoming tense and rigid. He could actually hear a dull roar of blood in his ears as everything seemed to come to a stand-still.

"Can I help you with somethin'!" he called out loudly in an irritated voice, desperate to get them away from the house.

They turned, and upon seeing him, glanced at each other. One nodded briskly, and they slowly descended the steps and walked toward him. He gripped his hands into fists, digging his own nails into his skin, trying to jolt himself enough to restore some kind of composure. _Please, God, let them be Jehovah's Witnesses_, he prayed silently. _Hell, I'll even let 'em convert me, if that's what it takes._

"Are you James Ford?" one of them, the taller one, asked. .

"Yeah," he said, willing himself to sound less startled than he felt. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Ford, my name is Robert Callahan. FBI." He quickly flashed a badge from his wallet, and Sawyer gave up his last hopeful delusion with a sinking feeling.

"This is my partner, Phillip Reed." He looked at Sawyer shrewdly, suspiciously.

"We were wondering if we might ask you a few questions about a woman we have reason to believe you may have been in contact with."


	40. Chapter 40

Just to warn you - it will probably be confusing that there's a Chapter 41 listed, but it's really the postscript section I mentioned earlier, in which I give my thank-yous and address some things. And so.. here it is. The grand finale (and it makes me so sad to say that.. but also relieved ;)

* * *

**Chapter Forty**

_"We were wondering if we might ask you a few questions about a woman we have reason to believe you may have been in contact with."_

The words reverberated in his ears. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it - as soon as the man had called out his name, he'd known, with a kind of telepathic certainty, what they were here for. He and Kate had had so many close calls and false alarms that they had to be past due for the real thing. Only... _why now_? Why _this _morning, of all mornings?

From the second he'd noticed the men on the porch, he'd been regretfully aware of one important fact. _He didn't have a gun with him._ He'd gotten in the habit of bringing one along with him nearly every time he was out of the house, but for some unfathomable reason, he hadn't bothered with the precaution today. Maybe it was because it was so early in the morning, or maybe it was that the frost had bewitched him, or that his thoughts of the future had distracted him. But whatever the cause, he understood that he was now completely defenseless, in a physical sense - which meant that Kate was, too, unless she somehow happened to see them from the window and armed herself inside. Because these agents surely had concealed weapons, whether they'd only come here for questioning or not.

All this flashed across his mind in the space of a few seconds while he sought desperately for a mode of dealing with the situation. Then, without even consciously deciding it, his instincts took over. As the men watched him, he turned casually back to the truck bed and lifted out another chunk of wood, dropping it on the pile.

Glancing back over at them, he replied in a half-sleazy, half-charming tone of voice. "Well, now... I been_ in contact _with a lotta women lately, if you catch my drift. You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

The tactic worked. The younger of the two men, Agent Reed, gave Sawyer a slight, conspiratorial smile. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you'd remember this one. She's what we like to call in the force "_a special case_."

Sawyer appeared to be thinking for a second, then he threw his head back as if he'd just realized something. "Ah... I bet I know what this is about." He walked over closer to them, leaning his hand on the back of the truck. "It's that's girl, ain't it? The one from the plane?" He paused, as if he was trying to remember something specific. "_Kate_," he finally said, pronouncing her name with precision, as if it felt strange in his mouth, as if he'd just recalled it out of the depths of his memory. "Took you long enough."

The look on the taller man's face appeared to confirm his guess. "Then I assume you have some idea of how the investigation stands at this point?"

Sawyer shook his head a little, going back to work unloading the wood. "Nah... Not really. But I hear she gave you boys the slip again. That true?" He looked at them. "Hell, from I what I remember, she probably don't weigh much over a hundred pounds. You tellin' me the entire FBI can't manage to keep hold of a tiny little thing like that?"

Agent Reed looked somewhat miffed at this. "It's not quite that simple."

"And why's that?"

"Because that_ tiny little thing _somehow managed to overturn a vehicle moving at fifty miles per hour, from the back seat, while she was _handcuffed_. She's emotionally unstable and highly dangerous."

Sawyer had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling proudly. "Guess it's always the ones you least expect," he said, as if he thought this whole thing was funny.

Agent Callahan gazed at Sawyer coolly. "Would you mind describing your relationship with Ms. Austin during the month you knew her on the island?"

"_Relationship_?" Sawyer asked, stressing the word. He laughed a little, and picked up the axe from where he'd flung it to the ground in preparation earlier, wondering vaguely if he could use it as a weapon, if it came to that. "That ain't exactly the word I'd use to describe it." He expertly split one log down the middle. "I'm sure you two know how it is. I was lonely... she was hot... I chased around after her for a while, but nothin' much ever came of it." He raised his eyes to them, shrewdly. "You know those types 'a girls that think they're above all that... like they got PMS all the time?"

Agent Reed reciprocated with a tiny smile of acknowledgment, but Callahan showed no response. He was in his fifties at least, his hair beginning to turn gray, obviously a career officer who'd run out of patience at being paired with green, inexperienced agents like his current partner.

"From other statements collected from the survivors, it seems that the two of you had something of_ a scene _during your last day on the island... that you became violent towards her? Could you elaborate on that?" he asked blandly.

"_Violent_," Sawyer repeated with unfeigned contempt. "Who said that?" he demanded.

Callahan continued to regard him evenly, and Sawyer realized his mistake. Collecting himself, he went back to chopping, saying, "Yeah, so?... Maybe I was... But it was only because the bitch tried to take my spot on the raft we built to escape." The word stuck in his throat, and it was something he could barely stand to call her, even as part of the act. But there was no room for sentiment here. He had to get the details right. "You know how hard I worked on that thing? And here she comes along, thinks she can manipulate everyone and make 'em all turn on me, just so she can get what she wants without havin' to sweat a drop for it. What the hell was I supposed to do, let her have it?"

"So in the process, her fugitive status was made known to the rest of the group. Is that correct?"

"Yeah," he said. "Wasn't my _intention_, but I guess that's what happened."

"Why wasn't it your intention?" Callahan asked.

"What?" Sawyer looked at him, confused.

"Well, I'm assuming that her identity as the fugitive was already apparent to you, but you must have deliberately chosen to keep this information to yourself. What made you come to that decision?" He kept his tone falsely even, but his eyes seemed cunning, almost hawk-like.

Sawyer was suddenly unnerved. He felt there was a trap in this somehow, but he couldn't quite see where it lay. "Guess I didn't think it was any of my concern," he said, raising the axe again. "What difference should it make to me how much they knew about her? I had other things on my mind."

"Let me ask you something, Mr. Ford," Callahan continued, after staring at him levelly for a few seconds. "Was Ms. Austin by any chance aware of your _own _criminal background?"

The axe wobbled slightly as it came down, the question catching him off-guard. It struck too far to the left on the chunk of wood, nicking off a corner and becoming embedded in the ground. "_Shit_," Sawyer muttered, pissed off and aware of how closely he was being observed, by both of them now. He played for time, not sure where they were going with this. "Why? You think she woulda done the same for me?" He wrenched the axe out of the earth.

"We have reports from several accounts that the two of you spent quite a bit of time alone together, away from the main camp. It would seem to me that two people with such colorful backgrounds... with so much_ in common_... must have had a lot to talk about. Wouldn't you agree?"

Reed watched him too, even though this line of questioning would never have occurred to him.

It now began to slowly dawn on Sawyer where they were headed with this. "I wouldn't know," he said irritably. "I'm not really the _talkative _type."

"But surely," Callahan went on in a coaxing voice, "It must have been tempting to share your experiences with someone who could partially relate? After all, it must have seemed, at times, like nobody else on the island could really understand your... _special circumstances. _And it wouldn't be entirely unreasonable to assume that she felt the same way towards you.

"Yeah, well," Sawyer said, getting pissed. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't in the market for a soul mate. When I was alone with her, I was mostly just concerned with how I could get her to take her pants off."

"I see," Callahan said, with a sly smile, as if he didn't believe a word of it.

Sawyer went back to chopping, while they watched him silently for a moment. This conversation was becoming increasingly alarming, but a sudden realization had just caused his blood to run cold, making him forget all about his ill-considered responses. He'd just remembered that Kate was supposed to come out here to help when she was done with her shower. She had to be getting close, didn't she? Unlike most women, she was generally brief about getting cleaned up. She didn't wear makeup, and she didn't even blow-dry her hair. Every molecule in his body screamed out a silent prayer that something would distract her, that she would refrain from coming out that door for just a little longer.

"Maybe we should just cut to the chase here, Mr. Ford," Agent Reed suddenly said, bluntly, as if he was tired of playing games. Callahan flashed him a lethal glance, but he didn't stop. "We've been informed that your local police were alerted by an anxious mother a few nights ago, on Halloween. Apparently her son told her he saw you in the company of a woman whom _he _believed matched the description of Katherine Austin."

Sawyer's heart gave a sickening thud, but he only rolled his eyes sarcastically. "What, those little bastards who were trespassin' after midnight with bags full of toilet paper? Sure sounds like reliable testimony to me."

He split another piece of wood, this one breaking cleanly down the middle, to his relief. "So I got a thing for brunettes... That a crime?" He narrowed his eyes at them, as if he was a little worried. "Look...," he said defensively. "That girl I was with on Halloween. She said she was eighteen, all right? Just in case you track her down to bother her with some pointless questions like you're botherin' me... I want it on record that she_ told me _she was eighteen."

Reed sighed, looking vaguely disgusted, but also disappointed, as if he'd hit a brick wall. "Yeah... We'll make a note of it." He glanced at Callahan, ceding defeat, letting him take over again.

"So in other words, what you're saying, Mr. Ford, is that you haven't heard or seen any trace of this woman since the two of you parted ways on the island... is that correct?"

"Yeah," he said. "I guess that's what I'm sayin'."

"Let me ask you another question, then. Do you have any idea of where she might be? Did she ever mention any specific location that would make you think she might attempt to seek shelter there?"

Sawyer pretended to think for a minute. "Specific location? Only _specific location _she ever mentioned to me was Disneyland... said she hadn't ever been there. Maybe _that's _where you oughtta look," he said with an unfriendly smirk.

"_Disneyland_," Reed echoed, clearly thinking Sawyer was messing with them. He gave a snort of laughter. "Thanks for the tip."

"Well, then," Callahan said, with an air of finality. "I suppose there's not much more we need to discuss here. Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Ford, but we're required to check out all these reports of suspicious activity ourselves. Of course, ninety-nine percent of them turn out to be nothing, just like in this case, apparently... but it's protocol. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah," Sawyer said, beginning to let relief creep over him. "No problem."

The two men turned as if they were on the verge of leaving, but then Callahan glanced back, as if he'd just thought of something else. "Oh, one other thing, Mr. Ford. While we're here, you wouldn't mind letting us take a quick peek inside, would you?"

"Inside the _house_?" he asked, his momentary ease evaporating in an instant. "For what?"

"It's just a formality, really. That way we can prove to the suits down at the Bureau that we covered all the bases. Why? Is there a problem?" He watched Sawyer with cold, suspicious calculation.

He turned away slightly, pretending to be occupied with tossing some previously split pieces over to the side. "Ain't no problem. But I don't suppose you got a warrant on you, by any chance, do ya?"

"Well," Callahan said calmly, "A warrant's only required if you refuse us entry. It would be much less time-consuming and complicated.. for _all of us_... if you just let us take a little look around. After all, if you don't have anything to hide, there's not really much point in being difficult, is there?"

Sawyer laughed harshly, shaking his head. "No offense, but I'm not exactly in the mood to be cooperative when I already done _told you _everything I know. Now, as you can see, I'm kinda busy here." He gestured to the pile of wood. "I don't think I got room in my schedule to give you the guided tour. You want to waste any more of my time today, you're gonna have to make it a little more official. So, you come back here with that warrant, and then maybe we'll talk." He turned away impatiently, with a secret, terrified desperation in his heart.

There was a moment of silence. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, the two agents looking at each other, identical expressions of careful, controlled satisfaction on their faces. They knew they were onto something.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Ford," Callahan said, with a cold smile. "Or should I rather say... _Mr. Sawyer_."

Sawyer turned around with a quick, seething look of hatred. "We done here?" he asked in a low voice. "Because if so, I think you've about worn out your welcome."

"We're all done for now," he replied, still with the imperturbable expression, as if he had Sawyer right where he wanted him. "But I wouldn't roll up that welcome mat quite yet. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again, son."

He turned away after giving him one last penetrating gaze that Sawyer met head-on, not blinking. Giving Reed a quick gesture, he headed toward the driveway, where they'd apparently parked farther up in order to make a quiet entrance. Reed nodded shortly at Sawyer, as if he, too, were sizing him up, then turned and followed his partner.

Sawyer watched them until they were completely out of sight, and then continued to stand there in numb shock, only gradually letting any emotions flood back over him. He felt an immense measure of relief that they'd gone, but their last words didn't leave much room for the easing of anxiety. They would be back - there wasn't a doubt in his mind. It was only a matter of time.

And meanwhile, Kate was in the house, taking a shower, with no notion of any of this, yet. She was still living in the world they'd awakened in this morning, the one that he himself had just recently been ripped out of by the merciless claws of reality. _And now he would have to tell her_. The idea that he would have to be the one to shatter, with his own words, her fragile prism of safety was somehow worse than anything else about this... it made him feel like collapsing onto the ground and refusing to move. But there wasn't any time for that.

Instead, he turned himself reluctantly in the direction of the house, and with heavy, heartbroken steps, started toward the door.

* * *

He waited for her, in the living room, sunk into the chair that had always been his favorite, although he didn't know why. It certainly wasn't the most comfortable chair in the room, but it had a way of conforming to his body, and so he always chose it. In a way, his feelings for this particular chair resembled the way he'd always regarded the house itself, up until a few months ago.

He'd bought it back with wariness, but also with a certain indefinable need, and had then retained it in his possession regardless of the fact that he hardly ever lived in it. The annual property taxes were outrageous, every time he stayed here something expensive needed repairing, and the resale value, at this point, would probably bring in at least triple what he'd paid for it, if not more. And yet, despite all that, it had never occurred to him to give it up. Even when he was desperately hurting for money, the idea of selling the house hadn't once crossed his mind, which was doubly ironic, considering how much he'd always hated the place. It was like the physical manifestation of all the emotional baggage he carried with him; a solid, imposing reminder of everything he'd suffered. No matter how much pain it caused him, it was a necessary evil, and he'd accepted its presence in his life as a given, the way he'd accepted, and come to _need_, the presence of the letter in his pocket.

As he sat there waiting, his mind wandered back over what he knew of the history of the house. His great-grandfather had somehow made a fortune during the First World War - nobody seemed to know how, but considering the nature of the family, Sawyer would be willing to guess that it wasn't through anything terribly ethical. He'd come here with the intention of operating his own coal mine, installing his bride in the newly-built house in 1918. Unfortunately, he hadn't bothered to first ascertain how much coal there _was _in the immediate vicinity, and it turned out that there wasn't much. To make matters worse, his young wife went and died on him while she was delivering their first, and _only_, son - Sawyer's grandfather, Adam. His life and fortunes a wreck, the thwarted man had never married again, and had just barely managed to see his son to adulthood, dying soon after and leaving the house to him.

His grandfather had remained a bachelor for years, bringing home his own bride, Josephine, when the two of them were both already in their early thirties. His grandmother's story was itself a saga of pain and hardship, but she had always been sketchy about the details, and so Sawyer didn't know exactly how they'd met or decided to marry. Nor did he know much about their years in the house together - just that they'd been deeply, probably dangerously, infatuated with one another. There was something dark and tangled in their past, a presence he'd been vaguely aware of, even as a child, but he didn't know what it was. He supposed it was the kind of thing you only became interested in when it was too late to find out the answers.

His own parents' catastrophic history was, of course, all too familiar to him. Their brief tenancy here had ended in the ultimate tragedy, and it would seem that, with them, the house had had its fill of twisted love stories. Except that obviously wasn't the case, as these last few months with Kate appeared to prove.

Sawyer smiled almost bitterly as he thought of all this. How could one simple, two-story frame house nestled modestly in the sheltering, encompassing Appalachian corridor manage to contain so much human drama? Surely not every dwelling experienced such an ongoing cycle of misery, heartbreak, and passion? What the hell _was it _about this place? Or maybe it was just that the men in his family were cursed, as well as the women they were inevitably drawn to.

It was enough to make him wonder, not completely without seriousness, if the house itself would retain some impression of what it had witnessed. Would the people who lived here in the future be able to sense something of the lives that had unfolded in these rooms, the fates that had been handed down here? Or would it just be an empty, blank space, echoing with silence, as it now seemed to him as he waited for Kate to come downstairs so that he could tell her that their time here was up? He was possessed with the sudden urge to burn the place down, to get rid of all traces of it, once and for all, so that nobody else would ever be deluded into thinking they could be safe here, that they could have a future here. But there was no time for that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her bare feet on the stairs. She stepped lightly off the landing and was on the verge of turning toward the kitchen when she caught a glimpse of him. Halting, she smiled. "I can't find my shoes," she explained. He stared at her, not knowing what to say. Why did she have to be so beautiful?

Coming into the room, she sat on the couch opposite him, tucking her feet up under her. With a towel, she continued to squeeze the ends of her hair, drying it. "Did you get it finished already? I said I would come and help."

"No," he said quietly. "It ain't finished." There was something about the way she was sitting that hooked on his memory, like a jagged edge. He couldn't quite shake it. Then he knew why, in a sudden, poignant flash. This was the exact position she'd been in on her first night here, after she'd climbed through the window and then come back down from her shower. Everything was the same - the way she sat with her feet under her, the way she was drying her hair, even the half-challenging, half-pitying glance she held him with. The only difference was the position of the furniture.

Her drying motions began to slack off as she studied him. A nervous flicker passed over her face, and she slowly lowered the towel to her lap. "What's wrong with you? Did something happen?"

He kept watching her, unable to say anything, although he tried to force himself to speak.

"Sawyer," she prodded, growing more worried.

Taking in a deep, fortifying breath, he let it all out and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them back up, he met her gaze.

"The FBI was here. They just left, about ten minutes ago."

Her expression didn't change immediately, although a little color drained from her face. Swallowing hard, she looked away, then tried to force a wan smile. "I don't suppose there's any chance that's just a _really _bad joke, is there?"

He didn't answer her. She already knew the truth. Nodding slightly, she said, "I didn't think so."

They were quiet for a few seconds. He gave her a chance to adjust to the reality of it, the same way he'd had to after the bastards had disappeared down the driveway. She was making an effort to conquer her emotions, the same way he had.

She shrugged slightly, in an unconvincing attempt at detachment. "It's not like it's any big surprise, right? We knew this was bound to happen eventually. I can't believe it didn't happen sooner." She looked back over at him. "Why did they leave?"

"They didn't have a warrant to search the house."

"They'll come back," she said softly, with a frank simplicity that made him feel sick.

"Yeah," he whispered, not seeing any reason to pretend to disagree with her. She knew the drill better than he did.

She sat in thought, looking idly around the room, trying to keep her emotions in check, to rein in the hopelessness she felt. He could see the struggle playing out in her features, and as painful as it was to watch, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Kate..." His voice sounded choked.

She glanced at him almost warningly, implicitly telling him to give her space.

But he couldn't do it. Not this time.

Ignoring her look, he stood up, and crossing the few steps to her, lowered himself onto the edge of the coffee table in front of her, pulling her against him in the same motion. She resisted at first, keeping her upper body tense and rigid, but then yielded, leaning into his shoulder. He held her tightly, one hand pressing her head against him, his fingers tangled in her still-damp hair. Burying his head against her neck, he whispered hoarsely, "Baby, I'm so sorry." A slight tremor passed through her, and the tears came, hot against his shoulder. This particular term of endearment, which he'd never used except teasingly, would have been enough to make her lose her composure, even without everything else added in. She allowed herself to give into despair for a few moments, but then took a deep, shaky breath.

"It's not your fault." Raising her head up, she regarded him seriously. "It would have happened no matter what."

"Yeah," he said softly. "But that don't mean I can't still be sorry."

Kate nodded, wiping away another tear that refused to be held back. "So I guess, that's that." She forced the next words out, clearly against her inclinations." You don't have to..." She stopped. "I hope you don't think that you have to..."

"I'm comin' with you," he interrupted her, reading her mind. "And I don't want to hear another word about it."

She gave him a grateful look, and for once, accepted his words without argument. "Okay. But we have to leave now."

"I know," he said softly.

They looked at each other intently for a few seconds, still without moving. Reaching out, he brushed away a strand of hair that was sticking to her tear-soaked cheek. She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, there was a hardened resolve there, a change he could see immediately. She looked away, considering.

"We need luggage," she said in a simple, no-nonsense tone. "Backpacks, duffel bags, suitcases... Whatever you can find. But the lighter, the better, okay? I'll go ahead and start getting things together. We have to move fast." She stood up briskly, and he was amazed at the way she could pull herself together like this, though he knew he shouldn't have been. Before she could move away from him, he grabbed her hand and held it to his lips for a second.

With fresh tears in her eyes, she tried to smile at him. "Start looking," she whispered.

"I'm on it," he said, standing up. She hurried back up the stairs, leaving the towel forgotten on the couch.

In what he knew was an action absurd beyond all measure, Sawyer picked it up to carry it to the pantry.

* * *

After locating the bags, he stood in front of his own chest of drawers, helplessly. What the hell was he supposed to pack? How did you plan for something like this? It was like they were being forced to go on a spontaneous, unwanted vacation. He didn't even know whether they were heading north or south. Should he pack for warm weather, or cold?

He decided to see if Kate had any idea, or if she was equally clueless, so he stepped into the hall and crossed to the bathroom.

To his surprise, she was standing stock-still, almost frozen, peering intensely at a small box in her hand.

"Hey, I got a question for you," he started. She slowly turned her head toward him, a funny expression on her face, although she didn't appear to have heard him.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded.

"Get _what_?" he asked, confused. He looked closer at what she was holding. Squinting, he could make out that it was the pregnancy test. "I got it at a drugstore," he told her, as if this should be obvious.

"What _kind _of drugstore?" Her voice was still sharp.

"What do you mean, _what kind?" _he asked, perplexed. "How many kinds you know of? It's the only one in town... same one my mom used to go to. Some old guy owns it."

"An_ old guy_," she repeated, contemptuously. "That _figures_."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" he asked, completely bewildered now.

"This is _expired_." She spoke with emphasis. "It expired almost _two years _ago. And if I hadn't knocked your razor into the trash just now, I never would have noticed it."

He still couldn't understand what exactly she was getting at. "So? I'm sure it's an aisle he don't bother to go down all that often. What are you, one of those consumer advocate people? What difference does it make?"

She stared at him in shock, as if he couldn't really be this stupid. "They aren't accurate when they're expired, Sawyer. They _don't work_." She suddenly looked scared instead of pissed.

He tilted his head back slightly, the import of her words sinking in. They continued to stare at each other, not saying anything.

"It probably doesn't matter," Kate finally said, as if she were trying to convince herself, as well as him. "I'm sure it was fine. I mean, they only put those dates on there so that they can sell new ones every year and make more money, right?"

It took him a second to answer. "Yeah," he said, unconvincingly. "Corporate bastards."

Neither of them even remotely believed this, and they couldn't deceive each other. The silence seemed to stretch out, the implications becoming unbearable.

Kate shook her head bitterly. "We don't have time for this right now." She looked around with an air of weariness. "We can deal with it later. Right now we have to concentrate on getting out of here."

She gave him one last intense look, and then brushed past him. He remained standing in the doorway.

"Sawyer," she said firmly.

He forced himself to turn toward her.

"Finish packing."

With an effort, he went back to the bedroom.

* * *

Kate made a last trip through the house, checking, with a deep weight of sadness in her heart, for anything they might have missed. In truth, she just wanted to see the rooms one more time. Every one held so many memories, produced and finalized, it was true, in such a short amount of time, but not losing any of their poignancy or meaning because of that fact.

As she quickly glanced through each room, the images floated to the top of her mind, knocking against each other and jostling for space. She saw the two of them hanging wallpaper and trying desperately (and unsuccessfully) to stave off any sexual tension in the room she used to sleep in. The small downstairs bedroom, just past the stairs, brought back to her mind the night she'd first climbed through the window, exhausted and miserable, and the way Sawyer had come through the door, drunk, without a shirt on, carrying a baseball bat. She smiled slightly at the image in her mind.

In the kitchen, despite everything else that had taken place there later, it was their first meal together that she now thought of with the greatest sense of loss... the way she'd practically had to force him to eat, and the way he'd pretended that he could barely stomach it. That meal, as she recalled, had been interrupted by a low-flying helicopter, and this sobering thought brought her back to earth and made her move faster. She checked one last time to make sure that the coffee maker wasn't on, and then grabbed the extra gun from the shelf in the pantry, the two incompatible actions not striking her as strange in the least.

Sawyer was waiting for her in the front hall, standing by the door. He'd already finished unloading the rest of the wood from the truck. There'd be no use for it now.

He watched her as she stooped to secure the gun in the backpack he'd found, fascinated for some reason by her movements. His mind was traveling backwards too, but unlike her memories, he didn't picture the two of them in his. Only her.

He was thinking of the way she looked when she sat on the kitchen counter, her legs dangling over the side, in the dress that he'd seen her surreptitiously pack a few moments ago when she thought he wasn't looking. He recalled the way she jumped into the lake feet-first like a boy, and the habit she had of rolling her eyes when he said something disgusting, and the way she always flushed a deep crimson at the height of passion, just before she cried out and went limp in his arms.

It was still hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact that she was _his_. He knew it wasn't politically correct, or wise, or even _safe _to think of her that way, but there was no help for it. No amount of reasoning or soul-searching would have had any effect on its tenacity. For better or worse, it was an idea that had taken root in his heart, a vine struggling up out of what he once would have considered inflexible stone. He would just have to see where it ended up taking him.

"What are you thinking about?" she suddenly asked, glancing up at him.

Taken aback by the question, he told her, "I was just thinkin' it's a good thing we didn't get the damn heater fixed after all. Woulda been a waste of money." She smiled a little and zipped up the bag, not answering. He didn't know whether she believed him or not.

Standing back up, Kate let her eyes wander silently over the stairs and hallway, a familiar grief wrapping itself around her once again. Finally, she brought her eyes back to his. Sounding like a hurt child, she said simply, through tears, "This is really hard."

He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to think of something comforting. "We'll come back," he said softly.

"Promise?"

"Yeah," he said.

They smiled sadly at each other, pretending to believe it. They both knew they would never come back.

He leaned forward to kiss her, lingering, despite their hurry, with a lovingly finicky attention to every detail, gradually increasing pressure on her lips as she tilted her head up toward him, covering her entire mouth again and again until she placed her palms to the sides of his face and pulled herself away. After a second she opened her eyes again.

"You ready?" he whispered.

For a split second, something flitted across her eyes that reminded him, forcibly, of the day they'd sat together in the window seat upstairs, and she'd watched the geese pass by overhead. It was a restless, yearning look, with just a hint of eagerness, or what could even possibly have been termed excitement. It had disturbed him then, and it still saddened him now. But unlike last time, today he felt a touch of it radiating outward from her to him, transmitted somehow, so that it was now something that he could share with her. Kate seemed to sense this too, squeezing his hand with trembling fingers.

She nodded briefly. "Let's go."

Without glancing back again, she hoisted the backpack over her shoulder, opened the door, and stepped out.

After looking around him one last time, Sawyer followed her onto the porch, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

FINIS


	41. Postscript

**Postscript **  
(to be posted at Fanfiction. net and LostForum)

Whew... Okay. I don't know where to begin with this, or how to even POSSIBLY thank you all for what you've meant to me this summer. Writing this has been an experience that I will never forget, and I know that sounds ridiculous and overblown, because it's just a stupid fanfic, but the fact is, I've always wanted to be a writer, and until this spring, I've always been too afraid to actually _write_. Other than a short story in a creative writing class during my sophomore year of high school 7 years ago, this (and the 3 other short fics I wrote before it) is the only fiction I've ever written in my life.

Originally, I planned for "In Hiding" to be about 7, maybe 8 chapters long. I was going to have them fight for a while, hook up, then have Kate leave and Sawyer have to decide whether he would go with her or not. I never had any plans to turn it into a monstrous, 40 chapter novel (and it can be argued that there was really no _need _to. ;) But whether it was a good idea or not, I don't regret it, because I've never enjoyed anything quite like I've enjoyed this. And for those of you who commented, even if it was just once to let me know that you were reading - I thank you so much for giving me the excuse to spend so much time doing this. The fact that you were willing to spend so much of _your _time reading a story that, on the face of it, has a completely absurd premise is always amazing to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And so, without further ado, I guess I should officially announce, for the few who don't already know it, that there WILL be a sequel. I know some might cringe at the notion, but I'm so attached to this world that I don't know if I can detach myself from it completely just yet. And I guess I might as well announce the title as well. The sequel shall be called... drum roll please... **On The Road. **Yeah, I know.. boring and predictable, but what else was I gonna call it? Road Trip? Seems a bit optimistic, given the circumstances.

But it will be, obviously, quite different from "In Hiding." More action-packed, darker in tone, with higher stakes. Some things, in no particular order, that you can expect to see are... Cheap motels, state parks, comfort sex, and fast food... Iowa.. . Aunt Meg... Other castaways (who aren't Jack!) Wigs.. Cemeteries.. Wilderness.. The elements... Campfires... Heartbreak, desperation, terror, close calls, car chases, and corn fields... Juvenile Delinquents... bounty hunters... The one with all the birds! And much more.

So if that idea doesn't make you groan or want to throw something at me, then I invite you back for the sequel. I'm not really sure when the first chapter will be up, although I have a sneaking suspicion I won't be able to hold out longer than a few weeks.

Oh, and also, I plan to write some stories about Sawyer's grandparents and their own love story (which is why I kind of set up for it in this chapter). I'd love to use the house as the same setting for a different, but not completely unrelated, piece of fiction.

Again, thank you thank you thank you thank you. I will never forget it.


End file.
